First Impressions, Snapshots, and Other Such Instances
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short stories following Sylvanas and her less than thrilling adventures in the realms of the Nexus, no matter how peaceful or intense they get. Written in non-chronological order. Contains black comedy, Sylvanas/Nova/Li-Ming/Valeera harem-not-harem, and anti-SJW content.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** First Impressions  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas—and her face—doesn't take too kindly to the Crusader of Zakarum."  
 **Notes:** Inspired by Johanna's trailer. The best part was hearing Kerrigan's "RAWR!" seconds before she, Nazeebo, and Sylvanas get one-shot by the Blessed Shield.

* * *

"Of all the people that had to be dragged into the Nexus, it had to be a _paladin!_ " Sylvanas said, her words muffled from the hands clasped over her nose. "A paladin!" She glanced at the newest Hero seated at the bar chatting it up with old man Deckard Cain, her massive, damnable shield propped up on the stool beside her. Johanna, was it? Yes, well, Sylvanas gave the back of Johanna's head the iciest glare she could muster, even though her eyes brimmed with unholy hellfire.

"It could've been worse," said Nova, tossing the bloodied rag into the incinerator and grabbing a fresh one from the box. "You could've been reduced to a pile of ash." She went over to the sink, turned the faucet, and soaked the cloth.

"It's bad enough I have to put up with Uther and Arthas! I do not want to contend with another Light-loving zealot!"

"But this is the Nexus; you get to kill them over and over again. Isn't that what you want?"

"It's not good enough!" Sylvanas hissed, and winced as pain throbbed from the epicenter and echoed in the topography beneath her face. She glared at Nova, who hunkered down in front of her with the damp rag. "I want these versions of them gone! Permanently!"

"At least you're still here," said Nova, gesturing with the rag for Sylvanas to remove her hands from her face. "I hear Arthas still can't find Anub'arak."

"Good! I hope he gets lost and the Nexus swallows him whole, body and soul! Including the hole where he cut out his own heart!" She inched away from Nova—as much as she could, being that she was seated on a wooden crate in a dark corner of the tavern. Her back bumped into the wall, causing her long ears to flatten against the sides of her skull.

Nova sighed tiredly. "Come on. It's not that bad."

"This is my face," Sylvanas growled. " _No one_ touches my face, lest they be on the receiving end of an biblical ass kicking! Including _you_ , human!"

"While I find your abundance in edge endearing, I really need to finish cleaning this." Nova shook the cloth between the two of them for emphasis. "Come on," she repeated. "Open Sesame~"

Sylvanas shook her head and grumbled under her breath—Nova surmised it had something to do with "being treated like a child" and "the nerve of this girl"—but she relented, and slowly set her hands on her lap. A comet's tail streaked across the bridge of a swollen nose flecked with dried green blood. Her glare was petulant, simmering, and quite pouty.

It was very adorable.

Nova shook out the rag with a good snap of the wrist and applied it, gently, to the wound. "There, there," she giggled. "Everything will be alright."

"Don't start with me…." But Sylvanas shut her eyes and endured, and that, in itself, was a miracle.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't know about you," said Nova, taking a sip of the ginger ale, "but either this is all a coincidence, you have incredibly bad luck…or the Nexus, and the universe as a whole, hates you and is trying to make your undead life as miserable as possible."

That made Sylvanas glower even more, hellfire eyes smoldering balefully at the gothic graveyard; Raynor and Tychus just so happened to be taking a pleasant, bromantic stroll through it, talking about whatever brothers from another mother were wont to. "This is not fair," she said. "This is not…fair…at all."

"The odds are certainly stacked against you. Me? All I have are those guys and Kerrigan. Not such a bad deal, if I do say so myself."

Sylvanas's lip curled up, revealing a wicked set of elven incisors still sharp and pointy in undeath as they were in actual living, breathing twenty-four-seven life. "Oh happy days! You never fell in battle. You were never raised against your will and forced to fight your kith and kin. You never had to wait for your captor to wane in power and steal your body hanging off the back of a meat wagon."

"And you never got to kill him," added Nova. Then, nearly falling off the fence at the murderous glare sent her way, "I'm just saying, I'm just saying! You were never there. Those adventurers and—uh, what's his name? Oh, right, Tirion! Him and the others got to him first while you were busy clearing out that citadel. But you wish you could have, right?"

"Yessss," said Sylvanas, turning back to the graveyard, glare intensifying, fingers pressing deeper into the folds of her cheeks. "How I wish I could have. It would have been the best day of my life."

"The best day of your life _so far_."

Sylvanas sit up and made to stand, reaching for an arrow in her quiver.

Nova blanched and scooted away, drawing up her knees defensively and hugging the mug of ale closer to her. "Alright, alright, I'll stop," she mumbled. "But man, talk about timing! Why, just a couple weeks back you were complaining about Johanna and the beatdown you received. How's your nose, by the way?"

"It's _fine_ , and I don't want to hear that woman's name! To me she's just another zealot. Another bible-thumping, Light-loving, people-hugging zealot who probably wears all that armor because _DEEP DOWN_ she's very insecure about herself both physically and mentally!"

"This coming from someone who constantly claims she's not a music box but a heartless banshee …yet she goes with Valla to play with the quilen and the horses in the pens…."

"I didn't ask to get imprinted by those…dog-cat things! I've told that ranger wannabe plenty of times to keep them away from me! It was bad enough back on Azeroth; I don't need it following me here like Nazeebo's ravenous spirit!"

"That doesn't explain the horses."

"That's only because the Nexus affects them, too! I can't raise them into undeath without them respawning seconds later, so I'm stuck riding a living one and they're stuck putting up with me, the cowards!"

Nova shrugged. "Well, there are always those mechanical spiders that showed up out of the blue a while back. Or those cyber wolves. It's better than hoofing it back and forth across the battlefield."

"Oh, you mean like you?" Sylvanas sniped. She relished at the affronted look Nova wore, the flush on her face alternating between various shades of red and purple.

The girl squirmed uncomfortably on the fence. "I…I have my reasons…."

"Whatever you say, Miss I'm-too-good-for-a-mount."

Her eyes followed Raynor and Tychus. They were drawing close to a particularly large tombstone bearing a weathered, stony cross. So engrossed were they in their conversation that they never noticed the skeletal hands popping out of the ground until they were wrapped around their ankles. Then the bodies emerged, shaking off soil, strips of ragged clothing, and chinks of rusted armor, some with notched weapons strapped on their backs or sheathed at their sides, and they pulled and tugged at their legs.

Cold laughter rang forth, drowning out the cries of the startled soldiers and the reports of their guns (they had left their assault rifle and minigun behind at the dormitory and carried pistols). The earth around the grave exploded outward, and from the confines of cold darkness the corpse of a man in ornate plate, crown, and flowing red cape pulled himself out and level with the rest of his minions. A massive mace rippling with blades was gripped tightly in one black gloved, gauntleted hand.

The bones of King Leoric's skull shifted into a gleeful, feral grin. _"Surpriiiiise!"_ he bellowed, and sauntered after them. Not walk, _saunter_ , like he was just taking a pleasant stroll through a park that had seen better days and didn't give a damn.

Especially when he started swinging that thing in slow, lazy swings, as though it weighed nothing, but those swings must hit like a wrecking ball at full momentum because his skeletons were flying everywhere—a ribcage here, a femur over there, a cracked skull where the tip of an arrowhead surely met between the eyes sent sky high and in their direction—

"Ahhhh!" Nova shrieked as it landed directly on top of her mug, its mouth staring up at her with its mouth set in a startled O shape. She toppled over the fence, spilling the skull and the mug over her head.

Sylvanas glanced disinterestedly at her, scoffed, and watched as Leoric smash Tychus upside the head; the man dropped his gun and fell without so much as a grunt. Raynor just stood his ground, sweating profusely, looking down the sights and popping round after round at the Skeleton King. The bullets ricocheted off his breastplate in tinny little _pings!_ One even grazed the side of his crown and knocked it askew, right over one of those dark caverns where his eyes used to be.

A fell, ghastly pinprick illuminated the depths of the uncovered socket. "Oh you foolish mortal," he giggled. "THAT DOESN'T HURT AT ALL! Let me show you…how it's done…." His free hand shot forward, and from where Sylvanas could see some sort of tomb sprang up behind Raynor and a pair of iron-wrought gates penned him on both sides. No room to jump over them, no place to run except straight ahead.

Sylvanas yawned loudly, squinting, with the tip of her tongue curling. Raynor was reciting a prayer, or a litany of words strung together to sound like a prayer (although it was a very rushed and nonsensical one), between the meaty smacks of the mace pummeling his flesh, his girlish cries, and Leoric's manic cackling.

Nova picked herself up off the ground and draped her body over the fencing. "That…was way past not cool," she huffed, blowing the hair out of her eyes.

"Hrm," Sylvanas grunted, chin propped up on the heel of a hand.

"I hope we get another Hero a lot less…bloodthirsty…next time." She winced as Leoric kicked Raynor square in the crotch, causing him to bounce off the tombstone and onto his face, his rear end sticking up in the air.

"As long as it's not a former prince or king made corrupted by eldritch powers beyond mortal imagining or a follower of the Light." Sylvanas sneered. "Darkness help me if they turn out to be a draenei or King Wrynn's kid. Then I will never truly hear the end of their preaching…."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Overreaction  
 **Notes:** My response to The New York Times' suggestion to adding peas to guacamole and people having a conniption over it. So today at dinner I added peas to my guac on a tortilla and ate. Good, but otherwise it tastes absolutely no different than it does without them.

* * *

"What…What is _this?_ " Kael'thas mixed the contents of the dip with the spoon, leaned forward and peered into it. "Are those…?" His eyes shot open. "No…no! It can't be!"

Sylvanas sighed and studied the dish disinterestedly. "Yes, Kael'thas, they're exactly what you _don't_ want them to be."

"It's absurd! Insane! No person in their right mind would ruin such a marvelous dish!"

"Well apparently our resident 'chef' had a little creative spark go off in that dumb brain of his."

"You don't put peas in guacamole! You just can't!" The elf slammed a fist against the table, making the cutlery rattle and bounce. "That's like eating cucumbers with the seeds still in them!"

"You have a problem with canned peas…but not the diced tomatoes? Or the chopped onions?" She glanced at the red cubes of tomatoes—which took on the appearance of mashed paste at this point—and white bits of onions.

"That's different! Those are staples! You cannot make the quintessential dip if you don't have one or the other or both! But this? This is abhorrent! This… _slop_ "—He lifted the spoon of the green stuff—and the green balls that were peas—up to his face for Sylvanas to have a better look—"taints the very purity that is fresh Nexus guacamole!"

"Kael'thas, they're peas."

"They are completely unnecessary!" Now he slammed both hands flat on the table, rising so quickly he knocked the chair he was sitting in backward. He jabbed a finger at the innocent granite bowl containing the guac. "This, right here, is the textbook definition of character defamation!"

Sylvanas scoffed. "What's the matter? I thought you reveled in setbacks. Why, I thought you were a man's man!"

"I am indeed a manly man! A paragon among hardworking elves tried and true!"

"Then suck it up and eat the damn things. Or give it to Tyrande." She scowled nastily. "Darkness knows that… _bounciness_ …has to come from somewhere…."

He sputtered indignantly. "Absolutely not! I will not denigrate myself to such…peasantry!" To the doors leading into the kitchens, he cried, "Stitches! STITCHES! Stitches, come out here this instant!"

The abomination did, pushing his massive girth through the tight space with a spot of difficulty. The chef's hat and apron were dirty and singed beyond any recognition as to what its original color was, but thankfully the latter covered up the grotesque mouth in place of his gut. A pair of raw sausage links wrapped around his neck like a shawl, bouncing with each lumbering step he took. In one hand he carried a meat cleaver and in the other a great big leg of…Sylvanas hoped it came from a buck. Or the fabled Cow King Old Man Deckard always prattled on about. From the third arm protruding from his back was a steaming skillet holding two eggs sunny side up; if he tipped the pan any further, they would fall to the floor and splatter.

The…facsimile of a mustache on his face twitched as he spoke. "What blood elf want?" he asked.

"Listen well and listen good!" said Kael'thas. "There are peas in my guacamole! I want to exchange this dish for one without!"

Stitches blinked owlishly at the little bowl. Then he blinked back at Kael'thas. "You no like Stitches's food?"

"Food? This is prison grub! This is torture! I have never heard of someone putting peas in a dip! It's unfathomable! Unconscionable!"

"Oh give me a break," Sylvanas muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

"I deserve cuisine befitting my station as the Prince of Quel'Thalas! The finest food on this side of this gods-forsaken Nexus! And if I cannot receive a dish to sate my palate, then I want my money back. Every gold, silver, and copper piece galore! I will not take 'no' for an answer!"

Stitches blinked again. "Have to," he said.

Now it was Kael'thas's turn to blink. "Wh-What?" he sputtered. Then, indignantly, "What do you mean I 'have to?!' I'm a paid customer! The customer is always right, you brute!"

"Monies go to funding." He shook the leg of unidentifiable meat once. "Half."

"Towards what?!"

Realization dawned on Sylvanas. She groaned and slapped the heel of one hand to her forehead. "Goddammit, Valla!" she grumbled under her breath.

"Petting zoo!" Stitches exclaimed happily, yellow, rotten teeth spreading in a cheek-tugging grin. "Horsey corral! Munchies and juices for the animals! Brushes an' shampoo for da baths an' toys ta play with! And best of all—"

"Best of all…?" Kael'thas ventured. Sylvanas had never seen his ears—any elf's ears, actually—droop so low.

"SWIMMING POOL! Bwahahahahaharrrr!" Apparently the ties on the apron weren't secured properly, so when his great belly shook with that growling, deep-throated laughter it fell away, exposing coils of purple-green intestines and the bleached birdcage that was his ribs.

Kael'thas's face took on a sickly shade of green, the same color as the peas. He averted his gaze. "Wh-What…What about the peas then?" he asked thickly. "I don't want to eat them…but I'd rather not see them go to waste. Even I know better than that."

"That simple!" Stitches dropped the meat on the table—right in front of Sylvanas, who jumped—and snatched the bowl of guacamole. He brought it up to his face. "Bon appeti…Bon appa…Bon appy-teet…Bon… _Bah, fuhgeddit! LET'S EAT!_ " He opened his mouth all the way and tossed the guac, bowl and all, inside. Sylvanas turned away, disgusted. He didn't even chew; he _swallowed_ the whole thing! And being an undead creation, whatever he ate wouldn't digest. So, in a couple hours, that meant it wouldn't come out through the…backdoor…but….

Kael'thas knew, too. He managed to force out a very weak "M-Merely a setback" before he clapped a hand over his own mouth and fled the room.

Stitches stared at the door he tackled through swing shut with a not so gentle slam. After a moment of idleness, perhaps with thoughts going through that walnut called a brain, he asked Sylvanas, "What Stitches do?"

"Nothing. You did the right thing." As gross and utterly _wrong_ as it was; Kael'thas was an obnoxious little drama queen. _Am I ever so glad you never took the throne._

Stitches grinned. "Thanks, elf lady! Eh, you no want that?" He gestured with the cleaver the unfinished, and untouched, plates of food.

"I don't eat." Eating was for the living, and living was for suckers. "Give it to Butch or something. You know, waste not, want not."

"Oh. Okay. Have nice day." He waddled off, the grounding quaking slightly with each step.

"Hey!" Sylvanas called after him. "Take this thing with you!" She indicated the leg on the table.

"Ah. Sorry." He came trundling back and retrieved it. "Have nice day again." He gave her an awkward, shuffling bow that made it look like he didn't move at all, and once more he went on his merry way. The apron woefully remained on the floor.

Sylvanas grimaced at the bloody, greasy stain left behind on what was once clean linen. "I'm never coming here again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Recreating  
 **Notes:** In the past week I listened to Sylvanas's quotes from Warcraft 3. I'm more used to her voice from the MMO as that was what introduced me to the franchise, so hearing her as she was back then gave the impression that she sitting in front of a fan that was going on at full blast and speaking in it. Thus, this idea was born.

* * *

Sylvanas stopped, her hand turning the doorknob. She did not open the door. Instead she stood up, leaned back, into the hallway.

She looked to the left. No one was there.

She looked to the right. No one was there.

She knocked on the door. When there wasn't a response, she knocked again. Louder this time. Still nothing.

She opened the door a crack and peeked inside. No one was inside. It was a room you could kick back and relax in, complete with a very puffy sofa chair, dusty bookshelves, a quilen throw rug (Valla would have a heart attack if she ever discovered this place), and an unused fireplace complete with ashes, soot, and an old cauldron. There were also stacks upon stacks of boxes marked in permanent marker, labeled in big, blocky letters: **KITCHEN SHIT** , **LIVING ROOM SHIT** , and **CLEANING SHIT** —yep, definitely Tychus's handwriting. On the table was an antique rotary fan. It was plugged in.

She leaned out and looked to the left again. No one was there.

She looked to the right again. No one was here.

She quickly slipped her arm through the crack and felt for a light switch. There was, so she flipped it up. The overhead lamps clicked on with a fluorescent buzz. Good. Sylvanas flipped it off.

One last time, she leaned out and looked to the left. Then she looked to the right.

No one was there.

Perfect.

She fled into the room and shut the door behind her. She went up to the fan, studied it. It had four buttons on the top panel—low, medium, and high; the last was to turn it on or off. On the side was a dial, to keep the fan still or make it oscillate. She knocked it to oscillate, jabbed the high button and then the one for power.

The fan sputtered to life and rotated its paint-flecked head left and right, right and left. Sylvanas pulled her hood back (she would have to take names if anyone saw her without it on) and left the artificial air toss her pale hair around. It should have felt cold, but for her it was what the living would call normal room temperature. If anything felt cold to her skin, it was sunlight. And Light—Darkness-damned, cursed Light. What was so great about it, anyway?

Ah, but she was letting her mind wander. She looked behind her, but no one was there. Content with that, she turned back to the fan, put her face close to it, and spoke:

"Whaaaat aaaaaare weeeeee ifffff nooooooot slaaaaaveeeees toooooo thiiiiiiiis tooooooormeeeeeent~?" The churning air made her words vibrate and bounce against her like invisible hummingbird wings. Hummingbirds were annoying, flitting about their damn flowers and not staying in one place.

But…she did like how that sounded.

"Weeeeee aaaaaareeeee theeeeee Fooooooorsaaaaakeeeeeen~"

It reminded her…of her old voice. Not the living one. That one was so…nasally. It reminded her of the few times Alleria found it cute to pinch her little sister's nose (and boy, just the thought of it made the scar twinge) and make her say elvish phrases because she thought it so sounded cute on top of flipping hilarious. She'd laugh even harder when Sylvanas would flail against the weight of her hand in an attempt to pry it off, but Alleria had a grip like steel…and that incessant giggling would make her blood pressure spike and boil and overflow like Mount Kajaro to Kezan. At least until she finally managed to knock that foolish woman to the ground, straddle her, grip her by the ears, and demand she play the role of her faithful hawkstrider—

Wait a minute, why the hell was she thinking that? Alleria was deader than Deathwing, no matter how many times Falstad assured Sylvanas that she and that guy—what was his name again? Oh right, Turalyon—that they'd make a great comeback. Sure they were missing, but hey, people thought he died during the Cataclysm! And look at him now!

 _Yes, just like Illidan: unforgettable and unprepared. A_ parasite _that doesn't know when to_ stay dead.

The foulness of her mood brooded in her veins, darkened the shroud of darkness she always exuded. It was a very bad kind of darkness, and she would not have it! She needed to concentrate!

"Theeeeereeeee iiiiiiis nooooooo reeeeeeeest leeeeeeeeft fooooooor meeeeeee~" Ah, that was much better. So edgy! So gothic! And so very true; she never needed to sleep, and when she wanted to everyone decided to go full ham and make as much noise as possible. Like throwing parties, getting drunk, having snowball fights and splashing in rain puddles, and…ugh…getting all affectionate with the riding mounts and the puppies. Always the damn puppies!

More…more! She needed more edge!

"Staaaaaand wiiiiiith meeeee, or faaaaaaaaaaaa~ll befooooooooore meeeeeee~" Oh, how delicious! She could just giggle…if she were anything but a heartless, undead monster!

"Bash'aaaaa noooo faloooooooor talaaaaaaaaaaa~h~" Oh yes! _That_ was more like it! Why couldn't she have kept that old voice? Why did that subterranean echo have to fade away over time? She could give Kerrigan a run for her money with this! Perhaps she could shake Nova hard enough to make her a voice modulator. There was no way in Darkness's darkness she was going to Gazlowe; that bastard would sooner blow himself up than get a working contraption going without it self-combusting a few seconds later.

"Liiiiiisteeeeeeeen aaaaaaaand obeeeeeeeeee~yyyyyy!" Oooh, that could definitely send shivers down one's spine! She grinned darkly, and then she cleared her throat. "BEHOOOOOOOLD! THE QUEEEEEEEN OOOOOF THEEE DAAAAAAAAAMNEEEEEED!"

Lost in her own little world, Sylvanas never heard the door open.

"…and when she was about to ask what changed him, the parrot said 'May I ask what the chicken did—' _Sylvanas?_ "

She jumped, ears snapping straight up and going rigid.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she looked over her shoulder.

Oh Darkness….

There were five of them in all: Li Li, with her hand on the doorknob, staring slackjawed and wide-eyed at what she was seeing; Valla, who looked past her toward the quilen throw rug with mounting horror; Jaina, who was at a loss between breaking out in a fit of obnoxious giggles and the mental gymnastics of 'am I seeing what I'm seeing' and 'I need to stop reading the funny pages'; frigging Kerrigan of all people, standing behind the rest with a hand over her mouth to hide that stupid smirk on her lips (but bold she was to have that twinkle in her eyes!); and the fifth—

"NO WAY! You like speaking into fans, too?!" Nova slid between Kerrigan and a near catatonic Valla and bustled into the room. She plopped herself right next to Sylvanas. "Wow, look at this thing! It's a dinosaur!"

Inch by inch, her eyes dipped and folded against the sides of her head. "…What are you doing here?"

"The rotary in the girls' dormitory broke down," Jaina said numbly. She picked at a fold on her pants. "We, um, went to go see if there was one we could, um, use from the storeroom."

"But thanks to you, we can see it's still in working condition!" Kerrigan piped up.

Sylvanas's ears pressed harder and fell lower.

"So you _do_ like having fun!" said Nova, and socked her in the shoulder. "You sly dog! You should've said something!"

Sylvanas stared at her, expression blank.

"So what were you saying? Something random? Something silly? Oh I know! I bet you were trying to be cool like Zeratul! Sucks to be him, he has no mouth. Here, let me show my impersonations of Mecha Tassadar!" Nova coughed into a fist, cleared her throat, and centered her face toward the blades. "FROM ooooooordeeeeeer COMES juuuuuuuuuuustice! DOMO aaaaaariiiiiigaaaaatoooooouuuuuuuu…MEEEEEEEE! BAAAAAAAH WEEEEEEEEEP GRANAAAAAAAH WEEP NINNY BOOOOOOOONG!" Nova fell back on her haunches, laughing heartily. "Oh, I kill myself sometimes! See, even an emo edgelord like you can indulge yourself every once in a while! Be one of the girls! So don't be ashamed of yourself! Give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done…like that! Yeah! But, uh, hey, don't take it personally—you're going a little _too_ high for my liking."

"Uhhh, Nova…." Li Li ventured warily, reaching for the mistwalker staff strapped to her back. Jaina took a step back and put a hand on Valla's shoulder, trying to draw her toward her. Kerrigan scoffed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"We had this discussion before: for all your edge and obsession with vengeance, I like you…but not in _that_ way! I've had my fair share of loves and they were all men! Nothing against you, of course, if you're like that. How' does that saying go again? You can look but you can't touch—"

 _SNAP!_

Nova collapsed on her side, her neck twisted. Her face was a frozen rictus of surprise.

Calmly, quietly, Sylvanas stood. She dropped her hands to her sides.

Through the bleached strands of hair, a single crimson eye glared at them.

The temperature in the surrounding area plummeted, and not because that fan was still going.

Sylvanas turned on her heel, and that was when time resumed at its normal pace and chaos broke out.

"CHEESE IT!" Li Li blared. She tore past Jaina and Kerrigan and into the hall.

Kerrigan sniffed. "You never learn, do you?" she directed at Nova's corpse, which was disintegrating into fine particles. She flapped her large, bony wings and, nonchalantly, glided in the opposite direction.

Jaina yanked Valla by the collar of her hood. This seemed to snap her out of her catatonia. "Wh-Wha—?"

"RUN!" Jaina shouted.

Valla caught the briefest of glances at Sylvanas, the storeroom, and the object of her terror and managed to squeak out, "But the quilen—!"

The shadowy dagger slamming into the wall just a hairsbreadth from her head was all the answer she needed before Jaina's ironfisted tug on her scarf choked her and bodily dragged her away from wrath incarnate roaring and charging swiftly, frighteningly closer.

* * *

A minute later, Nova respawned at the Hall of Storms.

Outside, on her back spread-eagled, in the rain, and far from the Manor; its silhouette loomed in the mist and fog.

Somewhere hidden, or perhaps unseen, a bird called. Cicadas trilled all around her, high and persistent.

She raised a hand, touched a spot on her neck, and winced at the phantom pain weaving a pulsing electric circuit. "How rude!" she grumbled, glaring at the overcast sky.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Best Friends Forever  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas doesn't do friends. Brightwing disagrees."  
 **Notes:** Requested by Lucario, although technically I had an idea for a "Sylvanas 'befriends' Brightwing whether she likes it or not" chapter since the story's conception.  
 **Notes 2:** The nickname Sylvanas gives for Tyrande is the nickname I give to Giada de Laurentiis from the Food Network channel for wearing shirts that show lots of..."plot". I had also considered calling Thrall by the community's derogatory nickname, but that has no place here. Not now, not ever.  
 **Notes 3:** I'm now taking requests for future chapters! However, I will not do pairings unless they're going to be satirized. Shipping, for me, is like going through a minefield with a metal detector.

* * *

The rock bounced up and down in her hand.

Up and down.

Up…and down.

Sylvanas sized up the cute little bird tweeting on the branch, never taking her eyes off it even as the rock obscured her vision leap after leap.

It sounded so happy, with its high, squeaky voice. So happy, flapping its colorful wings. So happy it was alive and free.

Happy to be in this _world_.

Sylvanas tossed the rock up in the air. It hung there for a split second, and then it conceded to gravity and fell once more. Just as it was about to fall past her, her hand snapped out, snatched it, and flung it across the pond. It cut through the silence with a sharp whistle.

The bird's body jumped with a shocked "WARK!", bounced off the branch, and plopped into the water. Sylvanas watched the surface ripple and shatter, and then settle. She drew her gaze back to the tree it was in and waited.

A minute passed.

Suddenly the space where the bird had occupied folded in on itself, an act of self-cannibalization. The bird popped out of the hole, bright and unbroken and not a speck of blood on it. It continued where it left off on its song, as if it had never died at all.

Sylvanas punched a fist against the boulder she was seated on. "What is _wrong_ with this world?! Why does everyone and everything have to be immortal?! I would've appreciated it all the more if the likes of _ARTHAS and UTHER_ weren't around! Why them? Why were they handpicked by the Powers That Be? They're not Heroes! They should've stayed dead! _Dead!_ And now I have to put up with that Proudmoore nerd, that idiot Thrall or Go'el or whatever the hell he calls himself now, and the whole cavalcade of time-lost troglodytes I've had the misfortune to ever meet! And stop singing, you twat! You're making my cold, black heart beat!" She shouted this last bit at the bird, which didn't so much as spare a single glance at her. Her glare intensified. That bold, ballsy bastard! How dare it ignore her!

Her anger boiling, Sylvanas searched the base of the boulder for another rock, deciding on one that was flatter and pointier than the previous. She scooped it up, gave it a couple practice tosses, and reared her arm back.

"HI THERE!" screeched a voice that was even higher than the bird's. Something loomed up right in front of her face, green and blue and…reptilian? It flapped on wings patterned in moons and stars and glittery showers of pixie dust.

Sylvanas yelped and threw her arm back, flinging the rock behind her high over her shoulder. She caught herself before she could fall off the boulder and breathed for the first time in a month, taking in a lot more _AIR_ and _NATURE_ and _ALL THE LOVELY SCENTS PERTAINING TO LIFE_ and they tasted so disgusting! Then she got a good look at the creature and stopped breathing altogether, thank Darkness, because she recognized what it was. However, that didn't really concern; rather it was the fact that, "You can _talk_." She wasn't awed. No, no—she was _disturbed_. When the hell could these things talk?

"Of course I can!" said the faerie dragon, doing a little loop-de-loop in front of her. "I am Brightwing! Do you know about faerie dragons?"

"How can I not? Your kind is friends with those tree-hugging night elves, especially to Birdman and Miss My-Boobs-Hang-Low!" Ugh, the way Malfurion and Tyrande were so lovey-dovey made her skin crawl…as if it already didn't! "Also, your name is Brightwing."

"Yes! It makes Brightwing happy that you know!"

"Well it doesn't make me happy! It rhymes with 'light'—any kind of light, really. Especially the Light, the Light that makes people smile and laugh and spread happiness to all the good little boys and girls the world over like that…weird goblin from the Crown Chemical Company cosplaying as a winged angel during Love is in the Air!"

"Do you want to know what makes me happy?" Brightwing asked.

"No," Sylvanas said bluntly.

But Brightwing carried on. "Smiling makes me happy!" Sylvanas groaned. "Do you like to smile?"

"I don't do smiles."

"Smiling is happy making! I really like to smile when I kill baddies!"

"The only baddies you kill are herbivores, like rabbits and birds. There is no way you can take on a fully grown human, or anyone for that matter."

"But that is the best part of snack time! Nothing tastes better than a scared baddie running for their life! Doesn't that just sound fun?"

"It would be more fun if this blasted place didn't bring the dead back to life!" Like Arthas; at first she had been so thrilled when Uther put her through a crash course at the Cursed Hollow and she had put an arrow right between that man-child's eyes, into the slit of that abominable helmet. He was down, down for the count and not getting back up, and she had actually _laughed_ and _danced_ and _cheered_ that he was gone, gone, gone! He was finally GONE!

…Until he respawned a moment later in the Hall of Storms, looking smug and no worse for wear. Then he proceeded to faceroll her, Uther, and their blue-clad soldiers—but that was a different story for a different time.

"That is a good thing!" said Brightwing. "Dead baddies that make comebacks always means time for snack time!"

"Nothing would make me happier than seeing my enemies get slaughtered," Sylvanas growled. "But I can't! This world, this…Nexus…won't allow it, and it is a hell worse than the hell I was shown when I attempted suicide back on Azeroth! Ohhhh, if only I could wrap my hands around his neck and—!" Her words dissolved into angry, hateful gibberish, clutching the air in front of her and strangling it as though Arthas (or Uther or Thrall, anyone would do) was right there with her. Just the thought of having him right next to her, still alive and undead and oh so proud, drove her to an even greater fury, her eyes blazing a scorching crimson.

"Brightwing is sorry you feel that way! Here, have a hug! Hugs make Brightwing feel much better!" Then Brightwing squeezed and molded herself into Sylvanas's shaking hands.

Sylvanas stopped. She stared at the faerie dragon that she was now holding instead of Arthas's imaginary, unprotected slab of a neck.

Brightwing fluttered her eyelashes and gave the Banshee Queen the faerie dragon equivalent of a grin. "See? Isn't this happy making?"

Sylvanas whined low in her throat, sounding like a kettle ready to blow its lid. Her eyes were wide and feverish, her mouth pulled down in a severe frown.

"Let's be friends!" said Brightwing.

"I'm not your friend," said Sylvanas.

"What about buddies?"

"No."

"What about guys?"

" _No!_ I don't want to be your anything!" Sylvanas roughly shook the faerie dragon back and forth.

"Why not? We can kill bad guys together! It makes us both happy, yes?"

She…had a point. Darkness, she had a very good point, and Sylvanas didn't want this…thing…to be right. But Uther said the Nexus was the hunting grounds for team fights and free-for-alls, upheld by the Powers That Be because the nobility and peasants couldn't get enough of their Heroes (she ground her teeth at that word) kicking each other's asses over whatever objective they were focusing on.

Sylvanas didn't want friends.

She didn't _do_ friends.

This was the Nexus, a living hell she had once thought of as paradise, and anyone on her team was an arrow in her quiver. Including Brightwing.

So Sylvanas nodded. "Yes," she said slowly. "Yes it does…but let's get one thing straight!" She brought the faerie dragon close so that their noses were touching. "I'm not your friend. I'm not your buddy. I'm not even your guy. I am Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen! The only thing we have in common is seeing our foes vanquished until we're called upon to do battle as enemies on opposing teams. Do I make myself clear?"

"Brightwing understands perfectly!" said the faerie dragon, nodding with a healthy cocktail of vigor and enthusiasm. She giggled and snuggled closer to Sylvanas, her claws digging into her breastplate. "Hurray! Brightwing has new friend! Best friends forever!"

"What did I just say?!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** A Friendly Word of Advice  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas would never betray King Leoric."  
 **Notes:** Inspired by Leoric's reveal trailer.

* * *

"You're an even bigger fool than I thought."

Leoric looked up from the laptop. It seemed he was still adjusting to getting used to it (and the technology in general), judging by how slowly he was typing on the keyboard. His eye sockets simmered dangerously. " _What_ did you just say?"

"You heard me," said Sylvanas. "You don't even know the kind of people you had on your team."

"Oh? You watched my match?"

"I did. You absolutely slaughtered them." And it was a very interesting match, getting to study this new Hero firsthand from the comfort of the tavern. He walked like he owned the damn Hollows, smashing people left and right and sucking the life from their souls. Poor Jaina, her brains kept flying out of her ears because of that massive mace. It was glorious; so was the green look Nova was sporting as they watched the match (although Sylvanas could've really done without Brightwing curled up and shaking away on her lap).

Leoric laughed. "So I did. These…Heroes…didn't stand much of a chance. Especially that long-eared fellow. He is an elf like you, yes? So much bark but so little bite. He fell so easily. Hmmm…but that doesn't answer my question. How does my team make me a fool? We were unstoppable! We had those poor sods running witless, as though they had soiled themselves! When the League truly begins, I should like to have them by my side when we ride through the Nexus. There is nothing more reassuring than a Hero who can never truly die."

Sylvanas scoffed. "Your so-called 'allies' are some of the biggest betrayers the Nexus has come to know. Believe me, _Your Majesty_ , I happen to be well acquainted with their personal histories! One of them firsthand!" One undead king was nightmare-inducing. Why did the Powers That Be have to go full retard and pull _another_ from the fabric of space and time?

"How so?"

"Let me give it to you straight from a longtime Hero." Sylvanas put both hands on the table and leaned down low so only he could hear. One by one she pointed out each specific person in turn. "Illidan there betrayed his people for power and got locked away for ten thousand years. Kerrigan betrayed some old man who used her for his own gains before he too betrayed her, and Zagara over there tried to betray Kerrigan but she got her hide handed to her in a battle. Then you have _ARTHAS_ "—who sat brooding in a dark corner, gauntlets off on the table, fingers flying across the keys on the little cell phone in his cold, pale hands (texting Darkness, no doubt)—"betrayed all of mankind, killed his father, brought the mother of all zombie apocalypses to his kingdom, and marched _on my homeland_ so he could bring back some dead man who was just as crazy as he was! He made me into this!" She thumped a fist to her still heart.

Leoric gazed at them all with a slow, mechanical turn of his neck, face ever unchanging. "Huh."

"Indeed," said Sylvanas, nodding gravely. "You may be called the Undying, but you must always be aware of your surroundings. Those people could decide to take advantage of you when you least expect it, and when your back is turned—BAM!" She slammed that same fist on the table, making the laptop jump and rattle. "You have to spend a good minute or so swinging that big thing around, trying to regain your health as fast as you can so you can turn the tide around. Your, ahem, 'death', could mean a loss and a great, big mark against your record, and that just won't do when the draft picks start. The cleaner the better, you understand."

Leoric said nothing.

"And really, you're the Skeleton King! Arthas? He may call himself the Lich King, but _he_ can't stay on the field—not like you can. _He_ needs help from a horde of zombies to keep him afloat. He even uses an undead dragon to shut down forts and freeze people in place. You? You can just trap someone in a literal dead end and beat them senseless. You can even strut your stuff like a true king and show them what for!"

Leoric hummed thoughtfully. "So you're right! There can only be one king of the undead, and that person…shall be me!"

"That's right! And you don't even have to wait to prove your mettle! In this world, nothing stays dead for long—Heroes, wildlife, and the undead. But you, you are more than that!"

"I am!" agreed Leoric.

"You are something else!"

" _I am!"_

"You are the Skeleton King of…! I'm sorry, what were you king of again?"

"That would be Khanduras, my dear."

Sylvanas quashed the urge to slap him. "Right. The…Skeleton King. Of Khanduras!" Oh yeah, picking up that stride like it was the Fall of Quel'Thalas all over again.

" _I AM!"_ roared Leoric, rising from his seat. Because the TVs were showing a match and blasting at full volume, no one paid attention to his triumphant outburst. "Ohhhhhh, I can't wait until we're called upon again! I am going to go up to that excuse of a king and put him in his place!"

"That's the spirit! Don't hold back!" It was also against the rules to fight outside of sanctioned fights, but Sylvanas could give less of a damn about the rules. The rules didn't matter when it involved Arthas! Or anyone, for that matter!

"I shall not! The Lich King shall know the taste of suffering, as I have!" Leoric cracked his knuckles, breaking off chips of bone and dust as he did so. "It would appear I was wrong about you, my lady. You are an ally I can trust to have at my back. In you, I see an ally who will never betray me!"

Sylvanas gave him a smile oozing with honey. "Of course, Your Majesty. You can count on me. Now go." She shooed him away. "Go kick his ass!"

Leoric tossed his head back and cackling. He hauled the mace off the floor and stomped toward Arthas, whose focus was entirely on the cell phone. Sylvanas watched with equal pride and amusement as the Skeleton King got the Lich King's attention by tapping a finger on the table. Arthas looked up, and from this far away Sylvanas couldn't hear what was transpiring between them.

There was no need. Leoric snatched the cell phone from Arthas's hand, crushed it in one powerful squeeze, and allowed the pieces to clatter from his grasp.

Arthas grabbed one of his gauntlets and smacked Leoric across the face with the back of it. Then he shoved his hands in them, picked up Frostmourne, and shoved the table aside against the wall, shattering it into splinters and kindle. He lunged at him.

Soon the tavern was embroiled in anarchy. Beer bottles, shot glasses, and magical spells flew across the room and ricocheted off the walls into furniture, television sets, and each other. Muradin bellowed from atop the bar, hammer and axe in hand, and bodily threw himself into a sea of patron and Heroes. Johanna flung her shield at Leoric and instead knocked the Lost Vikings down like nine pins. Somewhere in the midst of it all, Anub'arak screamed _"RAAAAAAIIIIIIIIDDDDDDS!"_ and unleashed swarms of locusts and flying beetles upon the whole lot.

Sylvanas smirked, turned around, and walked away.

Nova and Brightwing were loitering around the threshold to the exit, observing the scene with disinterested expectancy and hyperactive excitement.

"Wow! You sure are good at being a manipulative bastard!" said Brightwing.

"I know," Sylvanas said smugly.

"You sure know how to get away with it, too," said Nova. She winced as Chen's barrel of booze more or less slammed into the back of an unsuspecting Reh'gar's head.

"And _that_ is how I like to play the game," Sylvanas concluded. She raised a hand and slapped Brightwing's paw high, low, around the side and back again before she went out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** A Meeting of the Minds  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas confronts someone she never expected to meet in the Nexus: her younger self."  
 **Notes:** Requested by Chappie. This one was a bit difficult to work on, but I managed.

* * *

Nova knew this atmosphere all too well, she concluded, as she glanced between the two elves. She had encountered it many a time back in her own dimension, raking in the big bucks for whoever hired her and her gun. You could taste the venom in the air, how thick and suffocating it felt to be trapped in between two people whose next action could not be so easily predicted. Both women were ready to spring at one another, or snipe each other with words. Maybe the fact that them being here in the form of a paradox would cause the room to implode, and Nova didn't like the idea of disintegrating into countless pieces of possibility. Or erased from existence because someone had to be the scapegoat in all of this; when it came to Sylvanas Windrunner, she _always_ was.

So she wondered which one would snap first:

The Sylvanas Windrunner who was some unique variant of undead, an eternal cynic, and took a perverse, morbid joy in making everyone suffer or just as fed up as she was with each other….

Or the Sylvanas Windrunner who was alive and breathing and didn't reek of spoiled meat. (Not that the Banshee Queen took much notice; that air freshener Hammer gave her that she was wearing around her neck was _really_ doing wonders for everybody.)

"What the hell is this?" Banshee Queen Sylvanas asked.

"What the hell is _that?_ " Ranger General Sylvanas asked, pointing at her. "It smells like scorched earth!"

The Banshee Queen's ears snapped up indignantly. "I am not an 'it'! And for your information, I asked for lemons and instead I got gnomish napalm!" She shook the tree-shaped necklace at her younger counterpart. "It's a much better alternative than what I'm told I actually smell like!" The Ranger General grimaced. Nova noted the drooped ears and sharp incisors gave her the appearance of an irate cat. All that was missing was the fluffed up tail. It was a cute image she tried hard not to laugh at.

"So…what _are_ you supposed to be then?" The Ranger General studied the Banshee Queen closely. "Are…are you trying to pass off as a night elf?"

Banshee Queen Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "Of course I am! I love to hug trees, bury jars of kimchi in dirt, and praise the moon as that idiot Kael'thas claims the sun lights his path! I pray to my lord and savior, Malfurion Stormrage!"

"You don't strike me as the religious type—"

"Here, feel how my heart beats for him!" She snatched the Ranger General's hand and placed it over her breast.

It lingered for all of two seconds before Ranger General Sylvanas yanked it back. "By the Light! You're cold as a Winter Veil snowstorm! Wait, are those… _flies?!_ "

"No, they're itty-bitty wisps that keep my hopes up, my mind clear and the wind at my back. _YES THEY'RE FLIES!_ I'm an undead high elf, and you have _PRINCE ARTHAS_ to thank for that!"

"Prince Arthas? He…did this to you?"

Banshee Queen Sylvanas tossed her arms up in the air. "Who else but Arthas?! Surely not his missing sister!" Who she knew for certain (call it a gut instinct) was dead, just like Alleria. Gone for twenty-something years and not a letter to write home to, saying what was taking so long!

"I didn't even know he had a sister…."

"You and every other noble in the Nexus!"

Ranger General Sylvanas shifted from one foot to the other, looking her undead self up and down with keen interest. "I don't understand. You make it sound like he went mad out of the blue."

"We'd be here all day if we told you," said Nova. She clammed up when both Sylvanases looked her way—the undead annoyed, the living reserved.

"And who is this?" asked the Ranger General.

The Banshee Queen sniffed disdainfully. "That's Nova. She thinks she's a ghost."

"I am!" said Nova, a little petulantly. Why couldn't she get that through her head? She didn't have to be a reanimated corpse to blend into her surroundings!

"Oh really?" The Ranger General took Nova by the arm, under the elbow. Nova stared curiously at her grip before her vision went sideways and the pain in her arm as it was twisted damn near out of its socket. Nova gasped, mouth wide open and eyes screwed shut in white agony. "Strange. I've never known a ghost to be corporeal and able to feel anything. What a curious enigma."

 _I'm feeling something, alright!_ Nova thought, cradling the arm close to her chest. Little wet pinpricks formed at the corners of her vision.

"Well get used to it, if you know what's good for you," the Banshee Queen huffed. "There may be demons, murlocs, and aliens who're here to prove their mettle, but don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're my past self."

The Ranger General scoffed. "Yes, I'm sure I'll be running for my life from a shuffling zombie. I'm surprised you can even speak. What did you have to do to get that intelligent, eh? Eat some brains?"

The Banshee Queen glared at her. "Were you even paying attention? I was murdered, raised into _an actual ghost_ ," she glanced scathingly toward Nova, "and it was by dint and good fortune I managed to reclaim my body! So no, I didn't _eat_ anything. I am still Sylvanas Windrunner, in death as I was in life!"

"There's no way you can be me."

"And there's no way you're actually going to participate in the Nexus Hero League."

"Look right here." Ranger General Sylvanas took the sheaf of papers off the desk—the Banshee Queen's desk (Nova wondered if the undead would still liable to show facial tics, but the way the latter's face hardened most likely meant it didn't matter)—and handed them to her.

The Banshee Queen scrutinized them, as did Nova who was peering over her shoulder. Below the heading of the first page, a condensed list of her other half read as such:

 **Name:** Sylvanas Windrunner _(living variant of_ SYLVANAS WINDRUNNER, BANSHEE QUEEN).

 **Title:** Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas.

 **Universal Sector:** Azeroth #A12690x

 **Temporal Sector:** Post-Second War _(probability of Third War inconclusive)_

She shuffled through the papers, skimming over the legalese and mechanically written questions. Does the variant display combat abilities that differ from the default variant? Yes, that was to be determined. Was the variant registered into the Nexus database to engage in the Hero League and blood feuds declared either by two or more rival Heroes and the noblesse? Yes, she was. Did the variant go through the motions to obtain and carry a license to ride any of the mounts (except for those assigned to specific Heroes, like Tyrael's Light-abiding charger and the armored horse Illidan affectionately called Nightmare)? Yes, she did. Has the variant been selected by a sponsored family or corporation? Too soon to tell; she had just arrived in the Nexus a couple days back and only managed to find the Nexus Manor on her own earlier today with little difficulty).

Does the variant have any rivals and/or enemies s/he may be able to claim as a prerequisite for supervised blood feuds?

The answer typewritten here was a single word in bold, capitalized word: **NONE.**

The Banshee Queen looked at the Ranger General over the top of the papers. The younger elf stared back, arms crossed over fair skin (that reminded her of the Light), an eyebrow quirked questioningly. "Well?"

Sylvanas harrumphed and shoved them back to her. "Fine. I can accept this, but don't get ahead of yourself. In this place, there can only be one Sylvanas Windrunner."

"And that would be me." The Ranger General turned her nose up at her. "You may share my name and you may look like me, but you are not a true Windrunner. For all I know, you're probably some wannabe who has heard of my exploits and tries to recreate them. I should know. My sisters do it all the time."

The Banshee Queen nodded solemnly. "Indeed. It would explain why Alleria has a statue in Stormwind and you don't."

Nova turned away and covered her gaping mouth with a fist, effectively blocking the juvenile _"OHHHHHH!"_ that wanted to come out. She stole a quick glance the variant; whatever tics the undead Sylvanas didn't have, this one had in spades: a tic throbbing just below her eye, what looked like a vein pulsing beneath the papery surface of her forehead.

Ranger General Sylvanas's cheeks exploded in color, her ears snapping up in outrage. "I-I'm just as renowned as she is! I-I don't need a statue or awards or anything of the sort! My title alone is enough to warrant recognition!"

"And that's all you'll ever have, unless you can prove you're the better Windrunner on the battlefield."

"I will!"

"I highly doubt it," said the Banshee Queen, who beckoned Nova to follow with a crisp snap of her fingers. Then, when they were far enough from the room and out of earshot, "Who does she think she is? She talks as though she's Azeroth's gift to elfkind! Can she possess the minds of enemy minions and mercenaries? No! Can she teleport and cover distances at the sound of a _scream_? No! She stands no chance against one such as I!"

"I find it pretty telling that, deep down, you don't even like yourself."

"Of course I don't! She's alive, I'm not. I hate everyone with equal fervor."

Nova considered this. "So by that logic, does that mean you love everyone? As in, given that your condition's pretty much dampened any positive emotion you could possibly experience for all eternity, you express this love in the only way you know how? Because, well," she rubbed the back of her neck, laughing sheepishly, "I always found people who played tough to be pretty endearing— _OOF!_ "

Sylvanas smacked her on the back hard enough to send her sprawling face-first to the floor. "No, I just hate you all. Don't put words in my mouth." She turned up her nose and stepped over Nova, taking extra care to grind her heel into the crook of the woman's still smarting arm.

Nova grunted. She raised her head and pointed at Sylvanas's retreating back, grinning. "Th-That's what _all_ the tsundere say…."


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** The Perfect Mount  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas prides herself on flaunting her status as Queen with a mount befitting her image." **  
Notes:** I got back into Hearthstone yesterday after...geez, months of being away from it, in between World of Warcraft and Heroes of the Storm. I have so much catching up to do.  
 **Notes 2:** Also inspired by the August 7th "In Development" trailer featuring Kharazim (the Monk THAT FINALLY HAS A NAME; I don't have to call him "Aang" or "Tenzin" anymore), Rexxar, new mounts and skins, etc., one of which showed the treasure goblin and Malthael's Phantom.

* * *

They spawned in the Hall of Storms on the High Heavens side of the eternal battlefield in five crackles of thunder, one for each person.

Sergeant Hammer rolled out in her big, fancy tank bristling with caches of napalm missiles, crawler mines, and tertiary cannon. The treads made a low, trundling noise, like crunched gravel, as she made for the bottommost lane.

Rehgar tagged behind Illidan toward the top in his ghost wolf form, the light from the healing fountains and the azure bushes comprising the gardens passing through his translucent blue fur.

Sylvanas and Tyrael, the Lord of Sin, took one look at their surroundings and were dismayed. Tyrael hummed unpleasantly from the shadows of his hood, his grip on the reins tightening.

Sylvanas sighed. "Just our luck," she said. Her thighs squeezed harder around the large, round, bumpy mass wriggling beneath her. "I swear Ilarian is doing this on purpose. Well, if it hasn't worked the first few times it definitely won't work now. He can keep his Light all to himself."

"Agreed," Tyrael hissed, and he stood tall and proud upon his horse. "I am the master of my own destiny. The only 'light' I'll need is from the destruction I will sow upon this infernal place with El'druin."

"I suppose that's why you always ride Phantom?" Sylvanas nodded at the jet black steed. It belonged to Malthael the Angel of Death, who was almost never seen in the light of day let alone the Church of Light the idiot people of the Nexus constructed for themselves and their lauded Heroes, and apparently he had considered this variant of Tyrael the Archangel of Justice to be the brother and compatriot he always wanted to have when it came to kicking Sanctuary's face in.

Phantom snorted softly and stamped his hooves, rustling the armored plates on his body, his tail swishing at the sound of his name. He might be alive, but having a name like that and being associated with death Sylvanas quite liked him. He smelled like dust and coffins that haven't been opened in centuries; other than missing the lingering scent of ozone and failed alchemical potions, it reminded her of home, down in the deep, dark, stinking Undercity.

Tyrael grunted agreeably and patted the horse's flank. "Indeed. I ride Phantom so that if I should ever be summoned here, and on the side of the High Heavens, it will remind Ilarian where my allegiance truly belongs. I need not his sympathy."

"Good. Make you sure stand by that," said Sylvanas. Overhead and unseen, the announcer declared that the match would begin in less than one minute. The flames in the core intensified as the energy shields roared to life, flickering at first and then stabilizing with each strengthening layer. The portcullis to the forts groaned open, the first wave of minions awaiting the command from its systems to sally forth and assist their Heroes.

Phantom whickered and scuffed a hoof against the floor, impatient to go. Tyrael stroked his mane roughly, easing the horse just a little longer. "And what of you? What reason do you have for riding...?" he coughed and looked askance at her mount.

Sylvanas understood completely. "You mean this thing?"

"Yes…That. Would you not rather ride on something a little more…what is the word…regal?"

"Tell me you haven't entertained the thought of having your own personal slave at least once in your life," she said.

Tyrael hummed thoughtfully. "Well, yes, I have. I am the Lord of Sin. Why wouldn't I?"

"Then you'd know that you can make a slave do anything, just as much as you can break a beast into doing your bidding."

"Except for Phantom. Phantom _wants_ to do my bidding."

"And so will the treasure goblin. Isn't that right, slave?" Sylvanas looked at the creature from over the rim of its massive sack of loot. It cackled and tried unsuccessfully to do a little happy jig; it only made the gold jingle-jangle-jingle like a thousand little ringing bells. "Watch it!" she snapped, and clamped harder down on the straining 'saddle' (it was really a small treasure chest with the straps stretched all the way across the sack) to keep from falling off.

Tyrael stared oddly, head moving between the Banshee Queen and the antsy treasure goblin. "Are…Are you sure you can handle it?"

"I know what I'm doing! I run a nation back at home! My people made damn sure they listened to me whenever I spoke. This…thing…will be no different!"

"It looks like it is…how do kids like you put it…oh yes, 'raring to go.'"

"Yes, just like everyone in your debased realm. Talk about lack of control."

"It's a den of _sin_. I don't have to do anything."

"Then you have a lot to learn. And I am most certainly not a kid! I have a good couple hundred years under this rotting belt of mine! Not like you, old man!" Sylvanas sniffed and slapped her heels against the sack. "Let's go, slave!"

The treasure goblin jumped with a start. It bounced on its feet and clapped its overly large hands, cackling, making the contents it carried shake and bounce with its movements. Then, just before Sylvanas could get a firm hold on the saddle, it leapt over the steps, hit the floor, and pelted toward the gate at the middle lane.

The suddenness of its leap bucked Sylvanas off with a squawk, flinging her head over kettle at the foot of the Hall of Storms. The meaty smack of her back kissing the ground rang across the High Heavens like a gunshot.

Tyrael winced. Everyone else turned around and saw her, spread-eagled and staring dazedly up at the fluffy white clouds and pretty shining lights that either had to be magical globes, miniature suns, or lightbulbs that blinked. The Aspect of Sin had Phantom canter down the stairs and stand next to the Banshee Queen, to which he offered a hand. "It would appear _I_ am not the only one in need of learning," he said with the slightest trace of arrogance.

"Sylvanas!" said Sergeant Hammer, her tinny voice amplified through the speakers in the tank. She rolled up before the pair, artillery cannon idle but primed for combat. "Hey, you alright? Man, girl, you shoulda seen yourself! I ain't ever seen anyone do a somersault as flawlessly as you!"

"Sh-Shut up, Hammer," Sylvanas groaned, ignoring Tyrael's outstretched hand in favor of pushing herself up into a sitting position.

"You need something that's more at your beck and call! How's 'bout investing in a siege tank? You can paint it all kinds o' pretty colors and give it a real boss name, too, like _Banshee Rider_ or _Hell's Belle_ …ooh, I know! _THE SCREAM QUEEN_! It totally suits you!"

"N-Not now, Hammer!" Tyrael hissed hurriedly from what had to be out of the corner of his unseen mouth.

Sylvanas tuned them out, scanning the area for the treasure goblin. The dismount had put her in a foul mood, not to mention that the landing had forced her to take a breath—the coolest, cleanest breath of air she had ever taken in undeath—at least three or so weeks before she was supposed to. It had to be the worst taste in all the Nexus.

Finally, her eyes stopped on the treasure goblin. It was hiding right next to Rehgar in plain sight; maybe, Sylvanas thought, if it wasn't wearing that obnoxious sack, it would've fared better seeking shelter between him and Illidan, or between the ghost wolf's legs.

"YOU!" Sylvanas roared, causing the treasure goblin to squeal in fright. "You are going to carry me and _YOU ARE GOING TO LIKE IT! COME HERE!_ " She got to her feet, drew out her bow, and charged.

The treasure goblin screamed. It ran back and forth across the field, zigzagging madly as arrow after arrow slammed into the floor, whizzed by its ears in haunting wails, and left scorching marks in the stones of the cannon towers and forts. Some shots were absorbed by the core's shield, which reacted and fired lightning bolts at wherever they were aimed from. Sylvanas dodged those, ducking and weaving, eyes never tearing away from the little beast.

Hammer opened the tank's hatch and popped up to watch the spectacle. "Yeah, you go, girl! Give it to 'im!" she whooped. "Show 'im how mama wants it!"

The announcer called for a delay of game. Tyrael put a hand to his forehead and sighed, shaking his head. Phantom snorted and observed the chaos with as bored an expression a horse such as he could muster.

Illidan scoffed. "Foolish woman. She should've gotten herself a _real_ mount. Something that is slow and dumb and can be easily broken."

Rehgar turned away, not needing to see that Sylvanas was more than likely giving the opposing team an advantage given how close the treasure goblin was to the core. "Is that why you're riding the billie goat?"

The night elf made a choked sound, as if someone had snuck up behind him and abruptly squeezed his neck. He looked down at the bright pink goat with its cotton candy-colored hair, to which his large hands were buried in. Its tail whipped around, bringing to life a streamer of hearts and sparkles. "…All the other mounts were taken."

"You lost a bet playing Hearthstone to Valla again, didn't you?"

"I had everything lined up the way I wanted!" he raged. "Victory was at hand! I was _so very_ prepared, and still I…!"

Rehgar couldn't quite hide the chuckle in his voice. "Heh, at least you'll impress Tyrande. She likes cute things, doesn't she?"

Purple roses bloomed in his cheeks. "I…I dunno," he grumbled lamely. "I…I guess she would like seeing me on this…thing? Bah, but it's all 'Malfurion-this' and 'Malfurion-that'! What does nature have that I don't? I can make horns sprout on my head, too, you know! And these warglaives! Women dig warglaives, don't they?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

Illidan went quiet after that, mumbling under his breath while massaging the billie goat's fine hair.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Fireworks  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas celebrates the Fourth of July in her own way."  
 **Notes:** A holiday-themed short I've wanted to do since last month but never got around to doing until a few days back.  
 **Notes2:** Also Lucario (since you're a guest reviewer and I can't reply back), it's up to you if you want to buy Brightwing's Master skin. For me, I probably wouldn't because it doesn't look that much different from her normal skin.

* * *

Today was July the fourth. For Sylvanas, it was just another day. Even back on Azeroth, when all the goblins got together every hour to set off as many explosives and fireworks as they could until they set buildings on fire, it was simply that. The only day that mattered was Hallow's End, the time when the Forsaken broke free from the Lich King's control and claimed Lordaeron as their own city. A plebian's holiday was nowhere near as important as that.

For the Terrans in the Nexus, however, it was Independence Day. It was some holiday from their planet where these colonies in a country called the United States of America signed this paper called the Declaration of Independence which stated they were no longer part of this other country across the sea called the British Empire. It happened almost a thousand years ago, if Sylvanas got the galactic date right.

When Nova described it to her, it sounded no different than how people back home celebrated: they ate copious amounts of food; they got drunk off their asses; they pissed in bushes because why not; they vomited from the highest points of a building and watched to see if the stuff would land on somebody; they shot themselves up with drugs or pixie dust and acted like the complete morons that they were. That the living were; the undead had much better standards, and Sylvanas made sure her people didn't get too out of line.

So everyone in the Manor and people from all over the Nexus got together and held one big party that started on June the twenty-first, the first day of summer, and tonight was the last day for it.

It was the worst two weeks of Sylvanas's undead life. Everyone was so happy and sugary. They had a freestyle dance competition where at one point they were nearly falling over each other trying to outdo one another (Zeratul had just about put someone's eye out with his legs kicking in all directions—he said the Terrans called it "breakdancing"). They gave out gifts and showed them off, like tossing around pigskins and foot balls ("They're actually called soccer balls," Nova said, "but only in America do we call the sport 'soccer'. Everywhere else it's called 'football'…or, as I like to call it by its Hispanic name, 'futbol.'") or messing around with those dumb Crashin' Thrashin' Racer cars (Hammer couldn't get enough of driving it all over the damn place, including off the Manor's roof).

It was absolute chaos. The air was so rife with sulfur, food, and positive harmonic energies that it would've made Sylvanas diabetic.

Now on this night they were setting off fireworks. Jaina and Kael'thas had to be ushered out of the grounds because the former kept botching up her spells trying to light up the big red rockets and the latter was too busy being an idiot preening like a sex-starved peacock to care he was blowing his share up in their faces. Which wasn't any better, because the nobles had decided to put Gazlowe in charge of getting everything prepared. _Take two steps forward and take three steps back,_ Sylvanas thought. _Oh, pitiful mortals, you never cease to amaze me._

She sat away from everyone as they awed and marveled at the fireworks making colorful, intricate explosions in the sky. At least one Hero had the honor of lighting the fuse of a rocket and see it go off into the blue and black yonder. Everyone except her. They could have their gay ole time. She preferred the cold comfort of her back against the tavern's stone wall, bow and quiver at her side, legs pulled up to her chest where she could brood in perfect, self-imposed darkness.

"So Tychus," she told the man towering over her, "if you don't want me scooping out your eyeballs with an arrow and forcing them down your throat, you'll move them right on up back to the sky… _where they belong_."

The man gave a throaty chuckle. His teeth clenched a big fat cigar and he held a can of beer. Judging by the sway in his stance, he certainly put more than a few away this night. "I, uh, I just…just think you could use some…some company, ya know?" He hiccuped.

"I don't do company."

"Baby, I can do more than company. We don't need no fireworks—"

"I'm _undead_ , you sicko."

"It don't matter—"

"If the lady says no, she says no." Nova came up from behind him and shoved a mug of steaming liquid. "Here, have yourself some Kafa Press and go dunk your head in water. You smell like a brewery."

Tychus glanced petulantly between the drink he was given and the beer he was holding. "What the…? You gave me coffee? How…how's that gonna help?"

"Just drink it. You're not yourself if you don't have a cup of Joe." He gave her a bewildered look. Nova shrugged. "Sorry, I don't have any chocolate bars on me. Anyway," she turned to Sylvanas, "Tychus is right about one thing: you need to blast off some fireworks!"

"I don't do fireworks," said Sylvanas.

"You don't do much of anything!" Tychus exclaimed, and as an afterthought took a sip from the Kafa Press. He licked his lips. "Hey, this is pretty good!" He began to guzzle it down.

Nova shot him a withering glare. "At least shoot one," she said. "We kinda got this checklist going on, and your name's the only one that hasn't been marked."

Sylvanas grimaced. "Eh…."

"Oh, and there's a bet, too. Word around the Manor is that Arthas will win at least…uh," Nova calculated on the tips of her fingers, "fifty thousand gold if you don't participate. Guy asked every peasant and noble that had coin on 'em."

Her ears snapped to attention. "And just what is he going to do with that much gold?"

"Well for one thing he's certainly not putting any donations into the funds we need to rebuild the stables you and Hammer destroyed the other day."

"That was an accident and you know it!"

"I know, but tell that to Valla. So are you gonna do it?"

"No."

"Come on! It'll be fun! Look, this is one of the few times in a year where people try to one-up each other! That sounds like something up your alley."

"Not exactly. I just give out the rousing motivational speech and light the Wickerman on Hallow's Eve. There's nothing exciting about that."

"We still have plenty of rockets! Don't we, Tychus?"

"Holy crap, this stuff actually works!" the man declared. The color in his cheeks had completely dissipated and the imbalance in his posture restored. "Oh, uh, what were you saying?"

"The fireworks!"

"Oh, right! Er, yeah, baby, we still do! I'll even lend ya my minigun if our selection don't impress ya! It'll give you all the dakka you want!"

"My _what_ now? No, don't even bother telling me." Sylvanas silenced the man with an upraised hand. "Arthas can bet all he wants. I want nothing to do with this tomfoolery."

Nova scratched under her chin. "So…you're okay with Arthas using his winnings to purchase a week's worth of television and Internet time to create a single screen that says 'Sylvanas Windrunner is a big, fat phony'?" She put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, so that her shadow dwarfed Sylvanas. "Is that _really_ what you want?"

Sylvanas leaned to the side so she could see past Nova. Most of the Heroes were mingling with a bunch of groupies playing around with some cheap sparklers, cherry bombs, and firecrackers. There were even a few that had to be jury-rigged by Gazlowe himself, like oversized gnomish bottle rockets and the bastard offspring of Pandaren bamboo cannons and goblin turrets. Sylvanas bet one wrong move on his part, anyone's part, and half the courtyard would go up in flames. Maybe it would go nuclear, too. Sure everybody would respawn in minutes, but at least the resulting explosive would leave a very nice-looking crater. The perfect picture to take while on the scenic route.

But the selection was _just pathetic_. Absolutely piddly. The Royal Apothecaries could make something better than that; and as for launching them—the Wickerman was as far as she would go. These things? She felt her lips pull in a nasty scowl.

Suddenly, an idea came to her. She leaned back to Nova, smiling broadly. "No. No, not at all. You're right. I'll shoot some 'fireworks' off. As a matter of fact," she added, seeing Nova's beaming face, "I'll show you one of my own. How about it?"

"Of course!" said Nova, clapping vigorously. "I love surprises!"

The smile got broader. "Then you'll definitely fall head over heels with this one."

Tychus sniffed. "Woman, I didn't know you knew how to tinker. Where'd you learn it from?"

Sylvanas made a little waving gesture with her hand. "Oh, you know, in between the years I got my body off the meat wagon and picked Lordaeron off the ground. I've had plenty of time to perfect my form. Now, why don't I show you? If my guess is right, my firework has a lot more…ahem, dakka…than what's in your minigun."

Tychus threw his head back and laughed. "Okay! This I've got to see!"

"And so you will." Sylvanas slung the quiver on, took up her bow, and beckoned Tychus and Nova to follow.

Just her luck, Arthas was the first person to notice her approaching. Good. He sneered from behind the darkness of his horrific helmet. "Come to admit you're not woman enough to prove me wrong, Windrunner?" he hissed.

"As a matter of fact, I am," she said. "I can assure you in full confidence you'll be walking to the Manor empty-handed once I'm through with you."

"Is that so?"

"That is so."

Arthas looked at her steadily then at the pile of fireworks arrayed a short ways off from them. He snorted. "Heh. Go ahead. Make my night."

"Go on, Sylvanas! You've got this!" Nova cheered. "Show him what for!"

Sylvanas smirked. "With pleasure." She reached behind her and felt for the straight metal fletchings that comprised the obsidian arrow. She grabbed it and knocked it against the string. Then in one swift movement she aimed skyward and let it loose. It whistled through the air before exploding in a ball of expanding dark energy.

The blood-curdling scream that immediately followed drove everyone to recoil. Most covered their ears and ran away in fear. Others fell to the ground on their knees or in fetal positions, overcome by paroxysms.

Both Nova and Tychus were knocked off their feet onto their asses, the latter sending his coffee and beer flying out of his hands. _"JESUS CHRIST!"_ Nova cried, but Sylvanas could barely hear her over the noise. She was too busy marveling at the sight of Arthas lying prone with his head between his knees, struggling to regain his breath.

She chuckled and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Now that…that was worth it."


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Not Fast Enough  
 **Description:** "Abathur reminds Sylvanas of the one job she had."  
 **Notes:** I'm very grateful I have an autosave function on the program I use to type these chapters. Otherwise I'd have lost the whole thing.  
 **Notes2:** Also, it's not that I'm out of inspiration; rather, it's more out of sheer procrastination and that I don't want my chapters to be too long.  
 **Notes3:** I'm primarily a F2P player on Hearthstone, so I don't have any legendaries. I do have an epic Recruiter card for when I purchased a TGT pack with my gold, but that's nothing impressive.  
 **Notes4:** This chapter is based off a match I had last week on the new map; the conversation between Abathur and Sylvanas never happened and is a result of creative liberties, which I'll be taking from any other matches I will write future chapters off of.

* * *

When the match had ended and everyone had returned to the Manor, Sylvanas had found Abathur standing outside the main entrance, the claw-like fingers on his four hands steepled in front of those beady little eyes and avian beak of a mouth emitting those noxious green fumes. The look he was giving her, from the best she could discern given his alien nature, was smug and triumphant. "Organism Sylvanas," he greeted at her approach with a subtle nod of his head.

She sneered at him. "Don't you start with me! I know why you're here."

"Organism Abathur does not comprehend," he lied, and he pressed his fingers together.

"Well comprehend _this_ : you didn't win the game. You didn't bring down the core. I _owned_ you. I erased you off the face of the map. That's why it took you _five minutes_ to respawn. _FIVE_." She shoved her hand up close to his face, emphasizing the number of her own outspread fingers.

Abathur made a low, rumbling sound that, to her increasing ire, sounded like laughter. "Terminator still terminated. Not by Abathur. Organism Sylvanas knows this."

And she did, and it infuriated her.

A new battlefield had been introduced into the lineup: the Infernal Shrines. It was part of a months-long event called the Eternal Conflict in which the High Heavens and the Burning Hells waged their war in their pocket dimensions across the Nexus, and Ilarian and Beleth were all too glad to send forth their emissaries to negotiate the terms of agreement with the noble houses and the Powers That Be.

The Shrines had a very simple objective: power up an activated shrine with the souls of thirty demons before the other team. An empowered shrine would open a portal for a massive demon called a Punisher to step out and kick some ass, prioritizing enemy Heroes over forts and keeps. The Punishers even came in three different flavors: Mortar, which unleashed a storm of fire; Frost, which tossed ice that would freeze the ground where it touched; and Arcane, which dropped down bars of magic energy that would spin in place. They punched, they kicked, they jumped and stomped. They could also grab the unlucky sod within arm's reach and fling him or her across the battlefield like a discus or smacked repeatedly like a hammer.

Abathur was lucky to avoid most of the mayhem, as he preferred to hide in niches on the field or in the safety of the core and dispense his symbiotes onto specific Heroes (and just the thought of having his cells and DNA strands in her so he could assist her made Sylvanas itchy and colder than she usually felt). Sometimes he would dig from wherever he was—Point A—emerge onto another part of the area—Point B—plant some locust nests or spit them out before retreating.

So it made sense that, while Sylvanas and her team were getting pounded by the other team and their Punisher, he would take the risk and dig a tunnel toward the opposition's beaten core. All the way on the other side of the Shrines.

Everyone was equipped with a miniature computer provided by the Hero League. It would show the map of the battlefield, the location of each individual Hero, hired mercenaries, and bosses via facial markers (mercs were indicated as a skull, bosses had unique ones), the length of the match, warnings issued of approaching objectives and so on. Such as an unattended core being under attack by bands of minions and catapults with nary a cannon tower or keep to stop them.

Sylvanas recalled she had been taking cover behind a wall, tired and wounded. With her hearthstone in hand she was ready to teleport back to the core to recuperate and deal with the oncoming army when the computer chirped an alert. Having tucked the hearthstone back in a pouch, she dug out the device and checked to see what it was.

Her eyes bulged.

On the screen, in their very base and right on top of the core was Abathur's face.

Abathur, the Evolution Master of Kerrigan's Zerg.

Abathur, whose only weapon of choice other than his locusts and symbiotes was his hands. Hands meant for slapping and clawing.

Abathur, who was slower than Hammer's tank full on fuel while everybody zoomed past her on their mounts and could only crawl like the slug he appeared to be away from danger.

Abathur, who was about to take down the core all by his damn self.

Sylvanas pursed her lips hard, shook her head. "No," she said vehemently. _"NO."_ She scrambled to her feet, snatched her bow, and booked it back to the base, ignoring the Punisher's roars, the crackling ice, and her teammates' cries of pain. "No no no no no no no no no no!"

Closer and closer, the base loomed. But not fast enough. Not enough! Sylvanas screamed and flashed across the glittering white span of the High Heavens toward the creature smacking away at the core, whose shields had deteriorated from the onslaught of spears and hellish magic the minions were flinging.

"NO YOU DON'T!" she cried, and she peppered Abathur full of arrows. He continued scratching until a well-placed arrow in the head literally made him disintegrate.

But still the army had pressed on and the Punisher was drawing near. In her hastiness, Sylvanas picked off the remnants that weren't destroyed by the core's energy beams; it swiveled back and forth, striking down soldiers and catapults (which looked like miniature starships).

Except for the lone locust that was lobbing globules of acidic saliva.

Of all the things that could've brought down the core—the army, the Punisher, the enemy team—it had to be a damn locust.

A locust!

And when Sylvanas had her bow trained on the thing, it was too late.

Abathur drummed his fingers together, studying the rage settling on her face like a mask. His eyes squinted; to a lesser person the emotion in them would be unidentifiable, and Nova, while she had no love for the Zerg, would probably crack a racist joke about the way they were shaped, Sylvanas knew for certain he was making no secret of relishing in her discomfort. The fact that for all her skill she couldn't put an arrow through his locust in time. "Wind runner indeed," he chuckled. "Work harder. Better. Make faster. Stronger. Evolution never over."

Sylvanas nodded tightly. "Oh, I will." She leaned forward and put her face right up to his. " _I_. _WILL_. Guard your cradle with your life and sleep with all four eyes open!" She brushed past him with a huff and entered the Manor.


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** Overreaction II  
 **Description:** "Kael'thas isn't the only one who's overreacting."  
 **Notes:** Inspired by Mark Rober's skinned watermelon video on YouTube. I thought the idea would be a fitting sequel to Chapter 3.  
 **Notes2:** I don't perceive an end to this collection unless I run out of ideas. What I do perceive is that some chapters will be longer than others. That, however, depends on what the final word count will be. Some will be drabbles, some will be short stories.  
 **Notes3:** In the original draft, Sylvanas's comment about "certain parties getting touchy-feely" around her only pertained to Nova. I couldn't help but think "that's way too obvious!" so I decided to be a little more subtle about it.  
 **Notes4:** Also, that keg of booze Chen brings out? The alternate ending would've been him saying it was actually blood from all the meat the Butcher had carved in the kitchen, and Chen was to carry it to the stables to provide the more demonic/monstrous creatures to drink. Needless to say, both Sylvanas and Kael'thas would have been thoroughly appalled.

* * *

"Who…in the world…would do such a thing?" Kael'thas sneered at the watermelon. It was as smooth as a pebble and completely red with nary a sign of the green skin that covered it. It sat on top of a china dish in one half of another watermelon skin that was scooped clean of its own fruit, catching the light off the dining room fluorescents.

Sylvanas scoffed loudly and shook her head. She made to move away. "Don't you talk to me like that!" Kael'thas snapped at her. "This is serious!"

"What is there to be serious about? It's a watermelon. We've gone over this before."

"Yes, and the last time it happened I was sick to my stomach!"

"Was it because your childhood was ruined over seeing peas in your precious guacamole or because of the thought of what goes through Stitches's stomach?"

Kael'thas gagged and swallowed back bile. "P-Please don't remind me," he said thickly. "B-But still! No one should be carving their food in this manner! Nor smooth it out as such, especially with steel wool! That cannot be sanitary, and I will not touch food that has been tampered with!"

"On the contrary, my good friend, the Butcher used a dish pan scrubber," said Chen Stormstout. He was backpedalling out of the twin kitchen doors, hauling a keg of ( _What else?_ Sylvanas thought sourly) booze in his massive paws. It had to be filled to the brim, for both elves could hear the brew sloshing around in its vast confines. He set it down on the floor next to him with a huff. "I was the one who helped him scoop out the other watermelon. I do not know why he insisted on using an axe for it."

"What!" Kael'thas exclaimed. "Why would you do that?"

Chen gave him a confused look. "Mister Sunstrider, it would be a waste if we were to throw out the watermelon over such a project—"

"Not that! Why would you allow the Butcher of all people to lay his bloody hands on our food?! Have you heard of the things he's done for a living?"

"Hmm, I can't say I have. He is a creature of very few words. He hardly speaks at all. But I do know one thing: he likes knives and meat. Very, very much. He has a great big belly, just like me."

"Because he's a demon, you fool!" Kael'thas cried, and snatching Chen by the lapels of his coat shook him roughly. "Don't you see the horns, the red skin tone, the dirtiness of his weapons? Are you blind? He's called The Butcher for a reason! Carving is all he knows about and all he cares about!"

"And meat, too," Chen added. "If he could open up more, I am sure he would reveal himself to be quite the connoisseur."

"The ignorance in that statement is so astounding you could raise mountains and move them with it," Sylvanas snarled, throwing her hands up in the air. ""Riddle me this, Stormstout: did you and that niece of yours come into the Nexus before or after you wound up in the Eastern Kingdoms?"

Chen tapped a meaty finger to his chin. "Ah, my dear Lady, if my memory serves me right I believe I touched upon the shores well before the First War, on the back of a humbled whale shark—"

"I wasn't being serious about that!" she bit out, making him quail a little at the outburst.

"Oh? Are you sure? It's a very interesting story—"

"Nobody has time for that and I'm not one of them! You want to consort with demons, that's your business, but sooner or later, Stormstout, that fat, inarticulate waste of earthly resources will literally stab you in the back and make a four-course meal out of you! Then maybe your niece will finally get some meat on those bones of hers!"

"I think she's eating quite well," Chen said kindly. "Ah, but the beer—she could afford to drink more. It is in our nature."

"Great. Whatever."

Kael'thas turned his nose up and sniffed. "You tell him, Sylvanas! He has only himself to blame if he doesn't abide to our elven wisdom!"

"I'm not finished here yet," said Sylvanas.

"Whatever do you mean? I think you got the point across well enough—"

"I'm talking about you."

He sputtered. "Wh-What about me? What do I have to do with demons? Why, the very thought! Surely you jest!"

Sylvanas squashed the laughter rising unbidden in her throat. _Oh, if only you knew._ "I meant that!" She gestured at the shaved watermelon, to which Kael'thas glanced at with the expression of one who just stepped in something gross. "Do yourself a favor: grow a pair, pick them up, _and walk away_. You getting offended is making _me_ feel offended, and I'll have none of it!"

"But—!"

"But nothing! First it was the peas, now it's the watermelon. Move on already! And you!" She seethed at Chen, who blinked widely at her. "You need to stop giving out free brew to everyone! It's making certain parties get touchy-feely around me! Mark my words; I'll chop anyone's hands off if they so much as show me how to 'embrace the skinship'! Including yours! Then we'll see where your kung-fu fighting leads you!" She stomped out of the kitchen.

Kael'thas shrugged. "My, and she thinks _I'm_ overreacting!"

"She could use a good drink to raise her spirits," said Chen. "Perhaps I can ask Gazlowe if he could help devise a way the undead could imbibe to their heart's content."

"That wouldn't be a very good idea."

"No? We won't know unless we try."

"I wouldn't."

"I see. I suppose I shall go about it another way."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"You said you saved that watermelon you used for the shell?" Kael'thas asked.

"Of course. Would you like some?"

"Count me in! My good friend, I know many a recipe I can impart upon you. Come this way. Perhaps we can make some ourselves some salads…."


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** The Carlton  
 **Description:** "Nova shows Sylvanas the dance of her people."  
 **Notes:** This was inspired by a session of me browsing Facebook and seeing a vine of Carlton Banks from "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" doing his dance to Hanson's "MmBop" that one of my cousins posted. I couldn't pass up the opportunity, especially given how incredibly OOC I'm sure I made everyone. (I have never played Starcraft or Diablo.)  
 **Notes2:** There's a similar drabble I had in mind where Novazon Nova drags Sylvanas into doing the samba to Sana's "Sana Morette ne Ente" well before I saw the vine.  
 **Notes3:** Speaking of which, I feel almost compelled to make another anthology with just Sylvanas/Nova drabbles because, really, look at how much this chapter oozes with yuri. And this is about as yuri as it's going to get in this story.

* * *

The dance club was bumping and jiving to this strange Terran music (from an era called the Nineteen-Nineties, she was told: an era where kids made the most out of their childhood, mainstream media wasn't a joke, and video games inspired impressionable minds to get in touch with their inner devil), but no one in all the Nexus, Hero or peasant or noble, could convince Sylvanas Windrunner to—as Nova put it—'get down'. "No, I don't do that kind of thing," she said. "I have heard too many comments about 'getting down' in all sorts of manner headed my way in the past and I don't intend to start anytime soon, so you can go on right ahead and shake that…ugh, 'money maker' all by yourself."

"But it's not the same!" exclaimed Nova. The strobe lights above them were flashing an array of psychedelic colors, making her face cycle through the shades of the rainbow; Sylvanas wished black was a part of it so she wouldn't have to look at the wheedling, girlish look the Ghost was giving her. "Dancing is a group activity. I'm not meant to do this on my own!"

"Well you're going to. I don't do dancing."

"Unless the Chief forces you to," and with the Power of Rock, Sylvanas had no choice but to partake in his Mosh Pit. In which case his team would proceed to beat the loving crap out of them until the compulsion wore off or someone got a lucky shot on his guitar, "and when you do it doesn't look like dancing at all! I mean, who does the Macarena while levitating?"

"Ask me when I don't have any choice and maybe I'll tell you. But I'm not dancing." She glanced around. Chen's fat hide was jiggling way too much for her liking; Li Li was…jumping around with her hands up to her ears (the term 'Caramelldansen' flickered vaguely through Sylvanas's mind); Tychus was doing the running man; Raynor…she didn't know what the hell Raynor was doing, other than looking like a fool trying to catch himself from falling and not break his back in the process; and Jaina—what was she thinking, twirling like that? That belonged on an ice rink! Abathur could do better than that, and he was doing the worm! She turned away, shaking her head in disgust.

"Come on! It'll be fun! And don't you tell me you don't 'do fun'; even the so-called heartless Banshee Queen knows how to indulge."

"Only if it involves the suffering of others." Including Nova's, but did that bother her? It sure didn't.

"So pretend to indulge in sadomasochism and sweep me off my feet! You're keeping that body all to yourself. You can't deny the world that."

"I can and I will."

"Please?" Nova pleaded.

"No." Sylvanas turned her nose up at her.

Nova sighed and pursed her lips, tapping her foot on the linoleum. Suddenly she snapped her fingers. "It's because you're shy, right?"

Her ears flapped twice. "What?"

"It's because you're so bad at dancing, you don't want to make a spectacle. You're so bad at it you'll wind up the biggest laughingstock the Nexus will ever know. Is that it?"

They pulled back. "No, that's not it! That's not it at all!"

"It's got to be!"

"It isn't!"

"Then what's there to be ashamed of?"

"I am not ashamed! I am the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken! There isn't a challenge in all the Nexus that I can't do!"

"Then let me teach you! It's never too late to learn!" Nova tacked on quickly, seeing the disapproval slamming down on Sylvanas's face like an automated door.

She threw head back and barked laughter. "You, teach me? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard—"

"Oh oh oh oh! Oh! OH!" Nova gabbled, holding a hand right up to Sylvanas, and if anybody else had done that they would be enjoying a heaping helping of broken bones and enflamed nerve endings. "Oh my God." Her face was one of rapt attention, an emotion that looked very odd on her.

"What?" Sylvanas asked.

Nova's eyes lit up in recognition and elation. "I know this song!"

"What song?" Sylvanas pressed growlingly. This girl was being evasive!

"Ooh, this is the best part!" Nova interrupted her. Again, that hand thrust forward and forced Sylvanas to take a step back.

The Banshee Queen could barely hear the song above the thumping of the subwoofers and the Chief running his fingers hard on the guitar strings. So she gave Nova her precious space and watched her break out into a dance, perfectly in time with the start of the chorus.

Her eyes flew open.

What the hell was this? This wasn't a dance! This was asking to be kidnapped by a giant bird to feed its young…and whole! Forget what she said about Jaina, this was worse! And embarrassing! Okay, that sudden split looked great but the rest…the rest!

There were people here!

Tychus was here!

"Nova," Sylvanas said. "Nova…Nova!" She lashed out and narrowly missed swiping the Ghost upside the head, but thank Darkness, it got her to stop. "Nova! Cut that out!"

That look of pure joy would haunt her for the rest of her undead life. "Why? Doing the Carlton makes this song even better! Gets me in the mood!"

"No, it's making you look like a bigger ass than you already are!" What moron thought it was a great idea to name their dance _The Carlton_? What the hell was a Carlton?!

"Bigger is better, baby!" Tychus shouted above the din, and he went past the pair doing the Robot. In circles. Sylvanas saw him off with a seething glare.

She turned back to Nova. "You're looking to get lynched if you keep doing that," she snarled.

Nova scoffed. "For your information, this dance was all the rage back in the Nineteen-Nineties. Even now, its legacy lives on in my home dimension among many other dances, like the Harlem Shake, Crank That, and twerking!"

Oh dear Darkness, twerking existed in other dimensions, too?! "Only nerds like Jaina Proudmoore dance like that! They're so desperate for attention they'd do anything to make people notice them! It's why she's still single!"

"But you're not a nerd, and you don't look desperate for attention."

"I don't want any to begin with!"

"Then I'll give you mine," Nova declared. "Like this!" She reached out and took Sylvanas's hands in her own.

Li Li, who happened to be dancing nearby, heard their conversation, but most of all she saw the whole thing. She instantly stopped, whirled around, and, cupping both hands to her mouth, shouted: "EVERYBODY CLEAR OUT! NOVA TOUCHED SYLVANAS!"

"Hot!" said Tychus; he gyrated by her and fist-pumped as he went. He wasn't fazed by the young panda girl quickly ushering him off the dance floor toward the exit. Still, one glance at Sylvanas and the sight of her ears folding low and flat against her skull was enough to send everyone in the opposite direction. Tychus, as much as Li Li was tugging on his arm to get a move on, lingered by the door.

From atop the platform, the Elite Tauren Chieftain sighed explosively and flung the head of his guitar to the floor, creating a many-splintered hole for it to rest in. "Aw c'mon now! You guys always do this! There ain't nothin' wrong with a little PDA!" He shook his head and picked up his instrument. "Live 'n' learn, I tell ya!" he mumbled under his breath as he took his leave backstage.

Sylvanas glared down at their joined hands, then up at Nova. The glow in her eyes was ominous. "You know what this means, don't you?"

Nova smirked. "I'm a ghost, Sylvanas. I'll just come back and keep trying. Now...what would you like to learn?"

"I believe I should be asking _you_ that." She squeezed Nova's hands tightly and moved in.

* * *

An hour later, under a stormy sky, Nova awoke at the Hall of Storms with Li Li and Tychus peering down at her. Li Li held her fancy umbrella over her head to shield her from the rain. "Thank you," she told the young Pandaren girl; her voice issued forth as a hoarse croak.

"You okay?" Li Li asked. "Can…Can you even move?"

Nova tried to move her arms and legs. They felt like they had been emptied of blood and instead filled with liquid steel. At least there was some feeling in her fingertips, as she managed to elicit a very minor twitch from them. "Doesn't look like it."

"Man, she really made you twist and shout," said Tychus, "and I don't mean your half-baked kung-fu fighting little Li Li's uncle's been teaching ya."

"I got her to dance, though."

He grimaced. "Still, why do you keep at it? I mean, I still think it's hot but…you know…Sylvanas bein' Sylvanas an' all…." He let the sentence trail off lamely with a shrug.

"Because it's worth it," said Nova. "Every," she attempted to sit up on her elbows and fell back with a soft grunt, "time."

"Even so, you should really watch where you cross the threshold," said Li Li. "This is Sylvanas we're talking about. The undead one."

"Doesn't matter which one it is, they're both my friends. No one should be lonely in the Nexus. Not even demons and demigods like Diablo and the Lich King."

"But you'll always draw a line at Kerrigan."

"I'm not just some 'hopeless fangirl' she says I claim to be. She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"And me," Tychus added, and sighed sadly. "Girl, I've never steered ya wrong…no matter how many times I allow my eyes to, uh, wander."

Li Li coughed. "Uh, yeah. Just…keep them still and help her up? Please?"

"Yes, please," said Nova, and if she could she would have lifted her arms and beckoned the large man like a cat wanting to be held. "Don't make me crawl all the way back home with my chin. I hear it's painful." Not only that, but she would make herself look like a fool if Abathur, or even Kerrigan, saw her inch along like a caterpillar.

" _Gently_ ," Li Li told Tychus, tacking on the word for emphasis. "My fragile little mind's corrupted enough as it is, but I can do without _some_ things for a few more years."

"Oh, fine! But only because you said 'please'."

"That, and you don't want incur her uncle's wrath," said Nova.

"Yeah, you really don't wanna incur my uncle's wrath. Ancient Pandaren wisdom and all that jazz."

He frowned. "Yes, there is that. Alright, Nova, girl, it's time we head home. I hope you like piggyback rides."


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** The Reluctant Chosen One  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas gets involved in a never-ending battle she'd rather not be a part of."  
 **Notes:** Inspired and based on the Mecha Tassadar trailer, and also because I've wanted to do one of these since I saw it. There are a ton of references in this short: Mass Effect, GaoGaiGar, Cross Ange, The Dragons of Babel (there are no mechas, but there are mechanical dragons), Transformers, Evangelion, Pacific Rim, etc.  
 **Notes2:** Also, I apologize for the lack of an update, but I have my reasons for this: 1) the length, which is twice as long as a regular 1-2K drabble; 2) more procrastinating; and 3) the week after I uploaded Chapter 12, I had to put my dog of eight years down after she fell ill from kidney failure. I was in no mood to do any writing and...well, to say I was devastated would be a severe understatement, and I will leave it that lest I upset anyone. But...as difficult as it was, I'm much better now than I was two weeks ago.  
 **Notes3:** Another thing: If you have any questions or anything else of the sort, please leave me a PM. You don't have to tell me you're waiting on a chapter in a review. I apologize if this comes off as being bitchy, but I'm very well aware of the anticipation. At the same time, however, I'm glad this story has gotten such a positive response. I write these in the hope that it makes people laugh or go "WTF" at the sheer absurdity of the content.

* * *

High up in the belfry, the bells of the Church of Light tolled.

From the gloomy recesses of the Haven of the Dark, the shades wailed.

The cries of townsfolk in pain and in fear reached far and wide, shrill and clear.

But most of all, he could feel the heat. A raging inferno consuming everything in its path, tossing shadows made of soot to taint the earth, the wood, the purity of the air, the fragile borders of flesh—

On the edge of a foggy horizon, the Kaijo tossed its head back and unleashed a roar of triumph that shook earth and heaven.

 _Time and again you are vanquished, and yet you still come,_ he thought. _It is certainly a conundrum that, in the short time you are in the Nexus, the Darkness has not ensnared you in its eternal prison._

 _But one day, you will not return._

Far below the Manor, in a vast chasm of steel, chrome, and pylons, the gene-crystal protruding from the center of the massive robot's chest flared a brilliant blue supernova. The machines within the husk stirred to life, powering up tertiary systems and running rapid-fire diagnostics that concluded everything was in the green. The klaxons installed throughout the tunnels would surely send the bridge crew to their battle stations as quickly as humanly possible.

All that left now was the pilot. His pilot, the one whose synch ratio was the highest among the Heroes of the Nexus.

He would sigh if he had the ability to do so. His pilot was so…hardheaded, even more so as a squishy who was undead. Why would anyone want to refuse the call to mete out justice to the invasive Kaijo? There were people to save and housing properties to restore! Money to fundraise and smiles to form! Spirits to raise! Love to spread, that not all was hopeless! That life could still go on! Order could still be restored!

And his pilot wanted nothing to do with any of that! She was…! She was…! What was the phrase? Ah yes, laissez-faire.

How could she say that…and with a face so straight?!

His HUD alerted to the message that, as politely as the messenger could express, if they should activate the failsafe as soon as he returns to his body and ready to launch?

Yes. The failsafe.

The failsafe always worked. It worked because, like it or not, she had no choice.

But it got the job done, didn't it?

He would have preferred Zeratul to be his pilot, but on top of having a less than average synch ratio and a penchant for making flashy entrances from the comforts of the shadows. "Like those ninja in Terran manga," he would say, and the hologram would wish so much he had been programmed to emulate a sigh instead of ripple with snowy static.

Well, she would have to do. At least until Artanis arrived.

On the other hand, it was amusing seeing her unknowingly segue into the role of 'hot-blooded main protagonist' while they were kicking ass. That was a sight and a tale he and everyone else would never let her live down. Sometimes a person just had to free the beast, as long as it was healthy and unleashed upon the unclean, the heretic, and the impure!

So he sent a brief reply back to Jaina Proudmoore that, yes, she had the go-ahead to start the failsafe and to remain on standby. He closed out the window and drank in the view of the Kaijo Diablo, who broached ever closer on the horizon.

Project Tassadar, codenamed T-455474R by the engineers of the AIUR Geofront, took one final glance at Diablo, and then dissipated in a cloud of digital data.

It was time to cancel the Apocalypse!

* * *

"What's it say, what's it say?!" Hammer chirped, latching onto Jaina's shoulder with a mighty glomp. The force of the impact nearly shoved Jaina's face into the battle station's instruments.

"B-Back up! I c-can't breathe!" Jaina gasped, and she lunged back and threw Hammer off. Smoothing down her robes, she turned the holographic monitor toward Hammer so she could see. "Here. He just sent this."

Hammer's eyes lit up as soon as she finished reading the response. "Aw hell yeah! Time to rain down some hellfire! When do we start?"

"As soon as Sylvanas synchs up with him."

"Lucky girl! Why couldn't I have gotten a higher ratio? She gets to have all the fun!"

"Oh, I'm sure she'd given anything to trade places with you," Jaina said, chuckling. "But it is what it is. There's nothing we can do about it."

"Actually there is," said Hammer. "We can help by smashing that glass again!" She jabbed a finger at the big red button protected behind a thin, transparent shield. There was a latch you could undone to lift the glass and set the launch, but that was boring and nowhere near as fun. "I wanna try!" She made to raise her arm above her head.

Jaina stopped her, almost falling out of her chair in the process. "By the Light, wait until she gets here!"

"Well we can't have you doing it again. Last time you did, you broke all the bones in your hand!"

Jaina stammered and averted her gaze. "I-It was the heat of the moment! I didn't realize until then I wasn't using magic to mitigate the damage…."

"And we don't want a repeat of it, now do we? So," said Hammer gently, in contrast to the quivering and the sinews bulging on her arm, "if you'll be so kind as to…let…go…."

"I assure you, I won't be foolish as to injure myself a second time," Jaina assured her, while a cloak of purple magic lined her tightening grasp.

"Hammer, you had your turn last time! I'm going to press the big red button!" Nova declared, taking long strides toward Jaina's station. "And Jaina, you shouldn't put so much strength in your hand! There's a time and a place for you to act like you're in the quintessential shounen manga, and this ain't one of them! Relax, and let me handle it!"

"And when is it going to be my turn?" asked Kerrigan. She was leaning back in her seat with her feet up on the dashboard and her hands clasped over her chest. "I've been for, like, I don't know, whatever passes for a month in this place? Let me push the button. You don't get a free pass just because you staked your claim as Sylvanas's so-called waif—"

"YOU CAN WAIT YOUR TURN, GODDAMMIT!" Nova snapped, cheeks blazing a healthy shade of red.

"I don't understand what the big deal is," said Valla from the far corner of the room. "It's a button. Why should it matter who presses it?"

"It does matter!" Nova exclaimed. "Have you never heard of shounen manga?!"

"The closest to that word would be 'mange', so…no. I haven't." Valla puffed out her cheeks in irritation. "I come from a dimension that does not have these computers or books that force you to read from right to left. Use your brains."

"Rock paper scissors!" Hammer suddenly said. "Let's decide it right here, right now!"

"Yeah…no," said Kerrigan, shaking her head. "That's not happening."

"It's the only way!"

"Just let me do it just this once and you can merrily smash that button to your heart's content as much as you want. That's all I'm asking."

"Fair is fair!"

"Let me remind that I'm still Queen Bitch of the Universe regardless of what universe I'm in. I don't have to play fair. There are no exceptions."

"Whoever gets to Jaina's station the fastest gets to smash it and that's final!" said Nova. "I've got this in the bag!"

"I can't believe we're arguing over this," Jaina groaned, resting her forehead against the monitor…even as it passed through.

From the audio receptors, a loud, static-filled sound interrupted the escalating argument; it sounded eerily like a cough instead of a burst of communication lines adjusting to the right channel. "Excuse me, humans! I do not mean to intrude, but I am well and ready for enemy contact! You may activate the failsafe now! The sooner the better, if I do say!"

"Oh, Tassadar!" Jaina straightened up. "Sorry to keep you waiting! We'll summon Sylvanas right now—"

"We still need to decide who presses the button," Hammer insisted.

"It's going to be me," said Kerrigan. "I've waited too long for this moment."

"No, it'll be me!" said Nova. "I'm the only person here who gets the Universal Greeting right!"

" _I'll_ press it, just so you lot can clam up and we can get this over with," said Valla. "And besides, I need to get back to the stables soon."

Jaina slammed her hands on the dashboard, being mindful to not hit the glass over the button. "Everyone has a button on their stations! If you want to break it and have a dozen shards of broken glass in your flesh, then by all means go right ahead! This button is no different than the ones you have!"

Everyone paused. Even Tassadar's visage, which peered down on the group from the massive supercomputer screen, froze, the alien eyes of his virtual persona wide and luminescent with shock. To break the tension, he elicited another burst of static. "Did…Did you all not know you had separate buttons?"

"Of course we know!" Kerrigan sniped at the projection.

"Then why?"

"Because it ain't the same, buddy boy!" said Hammer.

"But what is it about Miss Proudmoore's button that makes it so special?"

"It's the closest to that big ole screen of yours!" said Nova. "Jaina gets to see all the action front and center!"

"But does it matter?"

"Yes!" echoed all but Jaina and Valla; the latter promptly covered her face with the palm of her hand, while the former shook her head in obvious exasperation.

"I…I see. Well then, if one of you would be so kind as to call Sylvanas-Commander…?"

Like an oncoming wave, Nova, Hammer, and Kerrigan rushed toward Jaina's station. At the same time, Jaina shot from her seat, whirled around, and with an outstretched hand blasted them away with a tide of pure ice. They were pushed up against the wall and frozen in place as swiftly as they charged. Their struggle was both sad and amusing, but she was from far either mind. "You can settle your petty argument right where you are! But please keep it down; I have a job to do!"

"Fine by me," said Valla, reclining back in her seat, smug and triumphant shining on her face. "I have this space all to myself now." She tilted her head back over the headrest, towards the ensnared women. "From this angle, I'd say the view is spectacular. For you? Not so much."

"K-Kinda hard to enjoy it when your t-t-tanks are freezing!" Hammer complained through the chattering of her teeth.

"Or if your wings are frozen," Kerrigan added with a sour frown. "I could really use a stretch."

"JAINA!" Nova cried, causing the other two to flinch. "Make sure Sylvanas says the Universal Greeting! Don't forget what happened the last time she mispronounced it!"

"Yes, please do!" said Project Tassadar. "It is a very unkind phrase in the tongue of my people, even if her slip was unintentional!"

"I don't know about that," Jaina murmured to herself. Then, more loudly and addressing the rest of the room, "Right then!" She crossed her fingers together, stretched them out before her, and popped the bones. Then, flipping the glass cover off, Jaina curled a hand into a fist and lifted it. "NEXUS DRIVE…ENGAGE!"

She smashed the button as hard as she could. This time, with that protective layer of magic.

* * *

Far removed from the Manor and Kaijo Diablo's scene of destruction:

 _Why am I doing this?_ Sylvanas asked herself again. She stared at the lake's unmoving surface, the plastic bait floating serenely now as it did an hour ago. The icebox next to her remained empty of game, the contents within filled more with water than ice. The tacklebox filled with hooks, worms dug fresh from the earth, and balls of cheese that had long since hardened from exposure to the air sat open behind her in the very center of the Viking longboat.

"Have ye caught anythin' yet?!" Erik hollered at her…from atop the ship's figurehead.

She cringed, ears flickering hard and fast at the sheer volume. The nerve of that pint-sized, time-displaced fossil! "No," she said as evenly as she could, the hands holding the fishing pole trembling with restrained fury. "No, I haven't."

"Well I hope we find somethin' soon! And I hope those two dingdongs come back with the real big game! Not the puny little quails or bunny rabbits; those are appetizers! I'm talking about deer! Bears! Maybe even Bigfoot!"

 _I know exactly where my foot's going to be in the next sixty seconds if you don't SHUT THE HELL UP._ "You will have your fill in due time. Be patient."

Erik snorted and ran a hand through the thick curls of his beard. "It's that necklace of yores that's keepin' the fish away! Whadja say it smelled like again? Nay-palm? Ha! 'Nay', indeed! No wonder we haven't had any luck! You smell better than ya did without it!"

Her lips pinched together. She felt the bones in her fingers tense, ready to break. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder and saw that Erik the Swift had his back turned to her. "I highly doubt that's the case, my good man," she said, drawing the dagger from its sheath. "Perhaps it's just…one of those days." She let go of the pole and softly, carefully, got to her feet.

The short Viking crossed his arms over his chest, humming thoughtfully. "Maybe…but that stench! That stench has gotta go!"

"But it's just blood!" hailed a deep, gruff voice. "Blood's what puts the hairs on yer chest!" Baelog and Olaf emerged from the woods surrounding the lake, the former hauling the carcass of a deer across his shoulders, the former dragging a bear behind him by one of its hind legs as though it were a ragdoll. Sylvanas whirled around, sat down, dropped the dagger back in its place, and resumed her position at the fishing pole, faking the indifference fishermen were wont to have.

Erik stamped his foot. "Well it's about time ye showed up! What took ya?"

"There's a giant lizard on the loose!" said Olaf. "He's-a breathin' fire everywhere and smashin' houses left 'n' right!"

"Yeah! And half a house just happened to land right in front o' us as soon as we were leavin'!" said Baelog. "We had to take the scenic route…again! And you know what that means we take the scenic route: we get lost…again!"

"I thought I heard-a screamin', too…but I think those were just birds!" Olaf glanced at Baelog. "Birds can be loud, too, right?"

"Aye, too damn loud for my likin'! We oughta slug one next time we go a-huntin'!"

"Wait a minute," Sylvanas said under her breath. She raised her head from the stillness of the lake toward the vast greenery of the forest and beyond. Toward civilization. "Giant lizard…breathes fire…screaming…Oh no." Her face drew back in dawning disbelief. "No." Then, more loudly, eyes flying wide open: "NO."

The air freshener around her neck began to glow blue and make a high-pitched keening sound that forced the Vikings to stop and cover their ears. Sylvanas shot up, stumbled, and caught herself against the boat's railing. _"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!"_ Pinpricks of light drifted off her body and into the air, the result of her molecular structure breaking down and rearranging for inevitable teleportation.

"It's a Nexus portal!" Baelog cried.

Olaf scrambled backwards, jaw agape. "Oh no, she's a-goin' ghost!"

"Good riddance, I say!" said Erik, raising his voice above the din of the noise. "Maybe now I can actually catch something!"

"Then I hope you choke on it, you damn pygmy!" said Sylvanas, and whatever else she wanted to say was cut short. Her form collapsed into a beam of light that rocketed toward the sky like a shooting star and vanished.

* * *

When she regained consciousness, she found herself sitting in the pilot's seat housed within the metallic bowels of Project Tassadar. And, to her chagrin, wearing the risqué, skin-tight outfit passing for a jumpsuit; the plug attached to the small of her back lay unconnected to the I/O port behind her. "God…dammit!" she swore, and then winced as the needles in the armrests punched into her wrists and injected her veins with cold, numb molasses. The lights on the instrumentation panels winked and danced in coordinated patterns, and the monitors around her displayed an assortment of graphs and charts of internal systems synchronization.

A holographic screen appeared before her, presenting Project Tassadar's virtual visage. "I greet you, Sylvanas-Commander!"

Sylvanas looked away, leering. "Ehhhh…."

A smaller window popped up below Tassadar. "Now Sylvanas," said Jaina Proudmoore, "I believe this is the part where you enlighten your companion with the Universal Greeting. _Correctly._ "

"You're the one who brought me here, didn't you? There'll be a special place for you in whatever serves for a hell here when we're through with that Kaijo."

"That's great, but really, Sylvanas, say it right this time."

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "Must I?"

"Yes, you must—"

"I insist, Sylvanas-Commander!" said Project Tassadar, speaking over Jaina. "Proper pronunciation and syntax is key to forging an everlasting bond between comrades and ensures a stable synch ratio!"

"I want off this ride," Sylvanas grumbled, lips pulling back.

"Do not be shy, Sylvanas-Commander! I believe in you! That last time…that last time was an unfortunate circumstance! You did not know any better! Come now, say it with me: BAH WEEP GRANAH WEEP NINNY BONG!"

Sylvanas groaned and bowed her head. "Darkness, just smite me where I am and take me to hell already," she uttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Jaina asked, perking up at the incoherent transmission. She appeared confused, but there was something in her expression that suggested she may or may not have quite heard those words.

"Do I have to?" Sylvanas asked, giving the mage an unamused glance.

"The longer we sit here, the more destruction Diablo's going to cause," said Jaina, "so please, for all our sakes, just say it and we can get this problem over with. The sooner the better."

"What's even the point? Everybody will just come back, anyway."

"Be you not ashamed, Sylvanas-Commander!" Tassadar chimed in. "I, too, have trouble speaking-expressing the complexities of the human words-language! Allow me to repeat the Universal Greeting more slowly for your convenience: BAH WEEP—"

"Granahweepninnybong," Sylvanas finished quickly. "There, I said it. Can we go?"

Jaina glared at her. "That didn't sound very sincere—"

"Don't care." Sylvanas closed out the window, took the plug and jacked it into the port. The instrumentation panels and machines turned a soft, hazy blue and elicited a steady, droning thrum—the synchronization process of positive and negative harmonic energies between pilot and mecha, the gateway to power overwhelming. "Now are you going to launch us or not?" She reclined in the seat and remained still as the visor settled down over her face and closed around her, displaying real-time visual and audio feed of her surroundings, Tassadar's systems, and their linked gene-bond.

A sigh crackled through the audio receptors. "You're incorrigible, you know that? Fine then." A pause, as she looked off to the side. "Valla, open the gates."

"Unlocking," said the demon hunter, and there was the tremulous sound of grinding metal. From beyond the mecha, earth rained down on the station. "Gates 1 to 5 now unlocked. Launch preparations are now complete. Systems all green. You're clear to go."

"Joy," said Sylvanas, without a trace of said emotion. "Standby ready in ten…nine…eight—"

"GOOD LUCK, SYLVANAS!" Nova's voice cried, causing the Banshee Queen to flinch.

"Yeah!" said Hammer's voice. "Whoop some ass for me, will ya?"

"You're just jealous that you're not the one piloting Tassadar," said Kerrigan's voice.

"Nuh-uh! I ain't even mad! See?"

"Wow. How very convincing. With a face like that, you could pass for Stitches's sister and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"HEY NOW!"

"Man, ignore those two!" said Nova's voice. "The future of the Nexus lies on you, Sylvanas! Knock 'em dead!"

 _I'll do more than knocking when I come back,_ Sylvanas brooded, glowering. _Be grateful you won't be the first to fall._ "Are you ready, Tassadar?"

"NOW MORE THAN EVER!" proclaimed the robot. "LET US DISPENSE ORDER IN THE NAME OF _LOVE AND JUSTICE!_ "

Her features darkened. "For you, yes, but for the last and final time I will remind you again: I am not and never will fight for love ever aga—!"

The thrusters on the soles of Tassadar's exploded to life and propelled him high up through the tunnel at a velocity that forced the wind out of Sylvanas and her body to be pressed painfully into the contours of the seat. She hung onto the handles, clenched her muscles and teeth and flattened her ears in the hopes that the pressure wouldn't cause her to spontaneously explode into dust, but that still didn't stop the keening _"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_ from escaping.

* * *

Everyone in the station watched them disappear in silence, heads tilted back as far as they could go.

"…Is she going to be okay?" Nova asked.

"I…I don't know," said Valla, and she put a hand over her eyes to see if she could discern Project Tassadar among the shadows the fluorescents tossed across the walls. She couldn't.

Jaina tried to unsuccessfully burn a hole in her keyboard with the power of her glare and protruding lower lip. "She hung up on me…."

"Why are you mad?" Hammer asked. "I should be the one getting my keister launched into space, not her! Man, what's a girl like me gotta do to get a higher synch ratio?!"

"Fill a moat with your tears and build a bridge over it, for starters," said Kerrigan, rolling her eyes. "God, put a sock in it. You lucked out, fair and square. Now be a good girl, suck it up, and wait for this ice to melt ANY DAY NOW. Wake up, Proudmoore, I'm freezing over here!" But Jaina ignored her, lost in her own world and tapping random keys on the keyboard.

Hammer tucked her head in and whined. Her legs were frozen solid, so all she could was lamely beat her fist against the wall. Valla sighed and turned away in disgust.

* * *

All across the Manor and its fairgrounds, everyone ceased what they were doing and turned their heads up at the yellow speck rising to the heavens.

Li Li reached the top of the hill, Raynor and the High Templar Tassadar tagging along behind her. Just like Valla, she shielded her eyes against the sun and indicated Project Tassadar's form with an outstretched finger. "Wow! So cool! Just look at them go!"

Raynor joined her at her side, mimicking her gestures. He whistled lowly. "Hot damn, if there ever was a sight! Who'd have thought you'd make a kickass robot?"

"Friend Raynor," Tassadar began, "I would never have guessed my other self would become host to a…less than desirable Chosen One. I cannot help but wonder what the fates were thinking."

"They must see something in Sylvanas if they made her a pilot. And hey, the town's still standing! You gotta give credit where it's due."

"Don't forget, Tassadar chose her," said Li Li. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing!"

Tassadar hummed thoughtfully, his eyes expressing doubt. "I hope you are right, little Li Li. Perhaps the Lady Sylvanas will prove me wrong, in one fashion or another…."

* * *

"The next time we sortie, you had better warn me in advance!" Sylvanas snapped at the disgustingly cute, super-deformed VI projection of the mecha on her dashboard, "or Adun Prime help you, I'll rip your gene-crystal from your chassis and have that blowhard Hammer use it as a ballistic missile! See how you like being launched that way!"

"My apologies, Sylvanas-Commander, but we cannot tarry!" said the VI. "The threat must be neutralized before it can deal any permanent damage to the Nexus!"

"Then transform and let's get on with it already! You've been hanging in midair for over a minute!"

Project Tassadar glanced around himself, at the systems outputs, turned around and studied the visual of the forest and hillocks rolling far and away where they met the horizon and vanished over yonder. Pillars of smoke swirled above the treetops as though they came from chimneys and not an evil, out of control Kaijo. An explosion sundered the air as if to emphasize her point, followed by a colossal fireball of warm primary colors. "…Oh. Well then, I suppose we should get a move on."

"Yes, you should! Before I decide to eject and have you go solo!"

"That is unthinkable! Come, Sylvanas-Commander, there is no time to waste!"

"That's what I want to hear! GET MOVING!"

"EXCELSIOR! THEN LET US RIDE FORTH AND PURGE THIS FOUL MENACE FROM THIS LAND! _HEN. SHIN!_ " The interior rocked back and forth as his body reconfigured into the shape of an airplane, and system outputs and the HUD changed to meet the accommodations. A reticule appeared on the center of the screen and Sylvanas's visor.

She gripped the handles tightly. "LET NONE SURVIVE!"

"MEGA THRUSTERS ARE GO!"

* * *

 _Finally, for better or worse, the hero that we haven't been waiting on has arrived._

 _She is not the hero the Nexus neither needs nor deserves, but she is called upon all the same._

 _She is the Banshee Queen, SYLVANAS WINDRUNNER!_


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Expectations; or The Obligatory Winter Veil Episode  
 **Description:** Sylvanas and Li Li visit the stables, and later go on a very important mission.  
 **Notes:** First off, and once again, I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates. I just haven't been in too much of a mood to write. There was also a chapter before this that I was writing, but I felt like that no one would really understand the context or the references going on, so I shelved it; however, I can always reconsider. So to compensate for my absence, here's this extra long chapter inspired by Lunara and the Winter Veil trailer.  
 **Notes2:** Insert shameless plug here: I've also gotten around to doing a bit of fan art in regards to this story. You can find a couple pieces under my handle, Fantastic-Phoenix, on Deviantart.  
 **Notes3:** One time on the MFPT chat in Heroes of the Storm, people were talking about shipping. I mentioned that I ship Sylvanas/Nova. Right away someone comes back to me with the respond "HOW DOES THAT EVEN WORK?" Oh, but I can. I _can_. If there's a way, I'll make it happen. And I have too much fun teasing you guys.

* * *

"…Well," Li Li said after the silence dragged on long enough, the word forming on a vapor of white smoke before evaporating. "This is…disappointing. I kinda expected it to be…you know, an actual cloud, and not, uh—"

"That?" said Sylvanas.

"Yeah. Exactly." They regarded the floating piece of hexagonal tile, one of boredom and one of dismay. The words CLOUD9 was embossed beneath the logo of a cloud, drawn in the curlicue manner of three number nines, but other than that and the blue trim around it there was nothing too impressive about it. Simplistic, if one could see that kind of artistic value in it. "I mean, it has a good design, but that's just it. It's too _hard_. It needs to be soft and fluffy, like a real cloud! If the sponsors are going to commission a mount in their name, it should at least look the part!"

"A shame it doesn't have any spikes to dig into somebody's ass." That was one thing she could appreciate about Horde architecture (and, reaching further, the designs of the Gilneans and her own folk): they had plenty of spikes to go around. She had thought them ugly and unsightly, too tribal for the likes of a fanciful lady such as herself, but then the Siege of Orgrimmar happened and friend and foe alike were impaled with extreme prejudice upon the pointed ends of blockades, ramparts, battlements…goodness, Garrosh put them everywhere. It was an even bigger pity that nearly everyone suddenly became a bleeding heart in the span of sixty seconds and put him on trial instead of, well, taking a spike and ramming it through that oafish brain of his. Or maybe egg Jaina on with that newfound hate of hers and have her put an ice pick in his heart, or maybe his eyes; Darkness, his eyes were so piggish. How could he stand to eat boar when he looked and sounded like one—

"Well I'd rather a spike doesn't dig into anybody's ass! Not even a mule's! No one deserves that kind of discomfort!" Li Li said firmly. "It's Winter Veil. Come February, this thing will be off the market. Collectors from all over the Nexus will be hounding us celebrities for even just a scraping of the engine's nanomolecular paneling!"

"Better that than your fluffy cloud. They would get nothing but cotton balls."

"Yet you ride on colorfully vibrant goat refugees that fart glitter and rainbows. _GLITTER_ and _RAINBOWS_ , Sylvanas," Li Li emphasized with a shake of her hands.

"I don't lose bets in Hearthstone. That's why Illidan's dead in our default sector."

"Hey, I don't know about that. Call it a gut feeling."

"Then he should be better more prepared, don't you agree?"

"I bet you ten gold he'll surprise us one of these days. Or, at least the Illidan that wasn't taken into the Nexus."

"That's a conversation I will not indulge myself in. Leave that to the bronze dragons. Oh wait, _they can't._ Thank you very much, Thrall!" Sylvanas mumbled this last under her breath, lips pursed and shaking her head.

"Well, anyway, back to our topic: if people can ride on goats that are commonly mistaken for cartoon ponies, they can ride on clouds," said Li Li. "There's this story I heard way back on the Wandering Isle about Son Wukong, the Monkey King. Apparently a long time ago he was given the Kinto'un, the Somersault Cloud, as a gift from the Celestials after making a journey from the Jade Forest to the Dread Wastes and back on foot during a time when the mantid were making their attempts to go over the Serpent's Spine. Others say he already had the cloud, but that he was only allowed to ride it when his quest was complete. Master Shang Xi used to say that thing was really fast and could cover great distances in a matter of minutes. The only drawback was that only the pure of heart could ride it."

Sylvanas hummed appreciatively. "That's very convenient. If it's that fast and there are many more like it, the Forsaken could spread blight and destruction and conquer Azeroth in a heartbeat. They would be unstoppable!"

Li Li stared at Sylvanas as though she had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Let me repeat that for you: you have to be _pure of heart_."

"Well of course the Forsaken are pure of heart. They have the best intentions."

"For themselves."

"Indeed. Would you not consider that pure?"

"Uhhh…." Li Li glanced to the left, then to the right up at Sylvanas, who glared back at her, stared at the snow between her feet, to which she shuffled them and kicked the smattering of flakes off. She brought up a fist, coughed into it, and rubbed her hands together. "Well then. I suppose we better head back inside and warm up. It's pretty cold out here."

"Oh you're telling me!" said a female voice. "What I wouldn't give to be by a fire right about now!"

Sylvanas and Li Li looked down the row of the pens and saw a four-legged creature sitting on her haunches. Her lower body resembled that of a spotted deer. Her upper half, however, was more humanoid and night elven, with wide amber-colored eyes, long foliate ears, and a long shock of green bedecked in snow, leaves, and thorny brambles; Sylvanas so desperately wanted to call it a weave, especially since the creature wore an expression of outright displeasure and had her teeth clenched together, presumably to keep them from chattering.

"Holy moly! A talking deer!" Li Li exclaimed, and she pelted down the aisle to get a better look.

The deer-lady scoffed and tossed her head back, shaking loose a powdery white shower from her antlers. "I am not a deer! How would you like it if I called you a tailless skunk, or a wild dog?"

"Oh, that's old hat!"

"Yes, and at your age you wouldn't be able to keep it on," said Sylvanas, coming up behind Li Li. "A coat rack would do a better job than you keeping an old hat together."

"And the hat will always look better than you," said the woman. She harrumphed, turned up her nose, and flicked her tail, but the air around her was thick with smug triumph; she did not need to see the Banshee Queen glowering at her, but she did hear the bamboo umbrella snap shut with a vicious click. "Anyway," she resumed, regarding her guests. "I am not a _deer_. I act nothing _like_ a deer. I am a _dryad_. I am Lunara, the First Daughter of Cenarius. I am also the latest Hero to be called into the Nexus."

Sylvanas snorted. "Who would've guessed?" Li Li smacked her hip with the back of her hand.

But Lunara nodded. "Indeed. Who would've thought that I, a child of the gods, would be mistaken for a peasant's mount and be held against my own will in the muck and filth among the more base variants of the animal kingdom? They even tried to put a saddle on me! A saddle! I am not like those druids who like to go into stag form and offer free rides around Darnassus, you know!"

"That's terrible!" said Li Li.

"I know! The water tastes like eggs, the food is bland and mixed with chemicals, and there's simply not enough space for me to gallop around in! I want freedom! Clean air! Organic sustenance! And a mortal to run my spear through for the injustice they have brought upon me!" She snatched the carved bough from the ground and shook it once at them.

"We're immortal," said Sylvanas. "We don't stay dead in the Nexus."

"Then damn my stiff, cold and weary hooves, I will simply go on a rampage until my vengeance has been sated! And if I should die I will come back and do it again! And again! I will not be treated in such a manner!"

"Hey now, there's a better way to go about this!" said Li Li. "It's bloodless, too! Sylvanas and I will go to the administrator's office and explain the situation. He'll see it was a mistake and fix it in no time—"

"Or you could just go on that rampage," Sylvanas interjected, ignoring the look of chagrin the panda girl sent her way. "Look, let's be real for a moment here: for being the daughter of a demigod, you sure like to complain a lot. Hear me out," she added, silencing the outrageous protest ready to fly from Lunara's lips. "They made a fool out of you. So long as you sit here, they're going to keep treating you like some circus animal. Seize your destiny, Lunara! Make an example of them ten times over until they see the error of their ways!" She shrugged nonchalantly. "After all, we're stuck here indefinitely. You may as well make the most of it, for what it's worth—"

"IT SHALL BE DONE!" Lunara cried, and bounded over the gate in a single, graceful leap that would put a basketball player to shame. She lashed out behind her with her back hooves and knocked the fence down, then reared up on them and kicked the air with the front, stabbing the spear's point at the wintry downfall. Sylvanas snatched Li Li by the shoulders and pulled her back, narrowly avoiding being struck. She was about to take off when she paused. "Oh, and just for the record," she said, looking at Sylvanas, "this was my idea. Not yours. I was totally not inspired, whatsoever."

Sylvanas nodded, lips thinned. "Right. You were biding your time. Gotcha."

"I mean it! Your rousing speech didn't do any wonders!"

"Then you better get a move on, then, before someone makes leather out of you."

"Or humble pie!" Li Li piped up.

"Oh, I will _humble_ these fine folk tonight," Lunara growled. "Tonight, they dine not on pie or meat but on the BLOOD OF THEIR FOLLY!" She galloped off, kicking a backwash of snow and ice in their faces. Li Li sputtered and wiped her face clean of it while Sylvanas, ears flattened against the sides of her skull, huffed and shook her head like a wet dog coming out of a bath.

Coming around the corner toward the stables, there came the sound of orcish laughter. Rehgar appeared, dressed in a red suit and hat, overly large yellow gloves and boots. A beard made of feathers spilled down his chest, accentuated by the plastic red ball planted squarely on his nose. He hauled a sack full of toys and goodies across his back. "HO HO HO! What seems to be all the ruckus about? Winter Veil is a time to be gay and merry! Whatever vitriol you may, you should save it for later—"

"OUT OF THE WAY, GRANDPA!" Wood flashed in a blur and struck Rehgar upside the face, knocking him off his feet and bowling him over onto his stomach. The sack fell in a rustle and a jingle. Lunara ignored him and kept on going, her tracks the only sign that remained of her passing.

"Rehgar—I mean, Greatfather Winter!" Li Li cried. "Are you alright?"

Rehgar picked himself up off the ground. With the back of his hand he wiped his mouth and saw that the material was covered in a strip of blood. He sneered, and a dangerous light entered his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine, little girl. Greatfather Winter has suffered worse than this."

"Yes," Sylvanas drawled sarcastically, "poor, ole Rehgar. How scoured your pride must be to be sucker-punched by a dryad of all things."

He clenched his teeth. "No, little girl, this has nothing to do with pride. Or double standards, for that matter!"

"Who the _hell_ are you calling little—"

"This," Rehgar continued, pulling off his gloves and throwing them to the ground, "oh this! Somebody's just got herself a heaping full of coal for Winter Veil…and so. Much. MORE! Ho! HO! HO!" He tore the beard from his face, yanked off the hat, leaped forward and transformed into a ghost wolf; the bulb on his nose glowed so bright and so very, very red. In the dark and whiteness of the land, it was a homing beacon that raced further and further away from them.

And as Li Li and Sylvanas watched and listened, toward the lights and sounds of festivity. Soon there were shouts, cries of surprise, glass breaking, wood snapping, gunfire popping, thunder crackling, magic exploding, and the guttural roar of a hungry, angry Stitches. Somewhere among all that, Chen and Brightwing laughed, one drunkenly and another maniacally. "YES, YES!" cried the faerie dragon. "More HELLFIRE! More MAYHEM! MORE, MORE, MORE!" As if on cue something exploded, followed by an elephant's distressed trumpet; they could barely hear Gazlowe shouting for Peanut to come back before it dissolved into a litany of vicious swearing.

Li Li and Sylvanas looked at each other, and then looked back into the darkness. They stayed like that for a while until the chaos receded and silence returned to the pens.

"Well," Li Li began, shifting from one foot to the other, "that was…uh…."

"Ridiculous," Sylvanas finished for her. "Don't look at me like that," she tacked on at the annoyed face the panda girl sent her way, "it was either that or continue being miserable. Personally I hope she gave Rehgar a good sticking through; he's so into his role I'll bet you he _thinks_ he's Greatfather Winter himself. Not like that troglodyte of an abomination is any better…."

Li Li turned away, shaking her head. Her eyes fell upon the discarded sack. "Hey! He forgot about the gifts!" She plodded over to them.

The Banshee Queen snorted. "Leave them. If he's not too lost in bloodlust, he'll remember and come back for them. If not, someone will notice and take them someplace else. It's none of our concern."

"It's a bit wet, but at least nothing fell out," Li Li murmured under her breath, pawing at the sackcloth material and poking at the shaped lumps of gifts here and there. Satisfied, she got to her feet, turned around. Looked Sylvanas Windrunner square in the eye and, steeling herself, smacked the top of the sack. "Sylvanas, how do you feel about performing a Winter Veil miracle?"

Her ears quivered, lifted slightly. "What?" she said, as flat as can be. Then, as realization dawned on her: "No. Out of the question."

"Come on, Sylvanas!"

"I said _no_!"

"You saw what happened! Rehgar and Stitches will be too busy respawning at the Hall of Storms. It's up to us to finish the job! All the little boys and girls of the Nexus, the nobles and the peasants, the Heroes and the Villains, are counting on us to bring them joy and cheer!"

"Then you can go right on ahead!" Sylvanas waved her away dismissively. "I want nothing to do with it! What do I look like, that stupid elf on a shelf?"

"With the way you're acting, yah-huh!"

"Ugh, you're insufferable!" Sylvanas put her back to Li Li. "Go ask the other Sylvanas! She's lame enough to oblige to your request and do whatever you please!"

"She's probably dying out there, too!"

"Then go ask someone else! Anyone, for that matter! I don't care who it is as long as it doesn't involve me!" She bore up the umbrella and snapped it open. "Now, if that's been settled, I bid you good night, Li Li Stormstout!"

She had not gotten several steps in when Li Li called out, "Anybody I want, right?"

"That's right!" Sylvanas called back.

"Then I guess you don't mind if I invite all the girls. You know, Jaina, Valla, Kerrigan, Hammer, even Nova. We'll all pile up in Hammer's siege tank and we'll blast the presents out one by one. Well, after we play a few rounds of jankenpon and the catfighting's out of the way. There's always the risk of hitting the wrong button and, uh, blowing up another building again, like you did with the stables—whoa!"

She was hauled off the ground and into the air, her feet kicking lamely against the ranger's sternum. So she found herself staring into a frosty crimson glare, folded ears, and a ragged scar across the pale blue skin of her nose. Her heart thrashed against the ball of Sylvanas's fist, where it gathered the front of her tunic. "Are you challenging me?" she hissed, pushing her pointy nose against Li Li's wet, black, round one.

She stared cross-eyed at her. "Challenge? What challenge?"

"For someone who's never had, let alone fought, elves on the back of a massive turtle, you sure talk big."

Li Li chuckled. "Well, I do have a big heart."

"My aim is true," Sylvanas said, jostling her prey once. "It's _always_ true. What happened before? An innocent mistake on my part and a colossal error of judgment and lack of brain cells on Hammer's. And let me tell you, _it will not_ happen _again_." She jostled her twice more.

"So does that mean you're gonna help, after all?"

"Help you? This is merely a means to an end. I don't do miracles."

"Not in the eyes of everyone on Greatfather Winter's Nice List."

Sylvanas heaved a world-weary sigh and closed her eyes. "Just…don't bring the others. For Darkness's sake." She opened her hand, dropping Li Li like the forgotten sack lying in the snow. She walked back and picked up the umbrella she had tossed aside.

On her back, Li Li clenched her fists and pumped her arms in the air. "Yippie! But, uh, before we do that…."

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "What?" she groused, looking back.

Li Li sat up and shook off the powder and ice coating her clothes. "We gotta look the part."

Silence.

Sylvanas stared at her. "Hah?" was all she could manage.

"Something festive," Li Li posed. "Something bright. Something colorful. Something that'll draw the eye and make 'em think 'so Greatfather's helpers do look as they do in the stories!' Something like…"

* * *

"Uh… _this_." Li Li backed away from Sylvanas as fast as she could and didn't notice she bumped right into the cashier's desk. The few customers doing last-minute Winter Veil shopping ceased their activities and turned as one (or, rather, they turned as their dread allowed them to without risk of painful death) toward the Banshee Queen.

Sylvanas bared her fangs in a nasty sneer back at the reflection in the mirror. Forgoing the armor and weaponry befitting her station, she wore a long red dress with swirling gold filigree patterns; the trim along the cleavage and hips were fluffy white wool bedecked in mistletoe and tinsel. A fat black belt and buckle cinched the ensemble together. Her sleeves and stockings were white and striped in an obnoxiously loud shade of green, and her hands and feet were covered with gloves and floppy boots topped with jingle bells. At the sight of the large plastic wings shedding glitter and Darkness-knew-what kind of child-friendly crap all over the floor with every flutter, along with the bow made from one massive candy cane leaning up against the glass, her ears flattened against hair stylized into ringlets and curls dyed a luminous gold.

Slowly, timidly, the cashier inched up to Sylvanas, the object in his hands rattling in a miniature earthquake. As steadily as he could make his voice sound, he said, "Ahem. You, um, forgot this." He all but threw the red Winter Veil hat on her head before dashing to his counter, stumbling, and rolling over the surface in a mad jumble of limbs; Li Li sidestepped him just barely and winced at the sound of his fall.

She approached her much more bravely but just as cautiously. "Hey, it's not that bad. I mean, I think we complement each other quite well: I as your cute-as-a-button helper, and you as the sexy, eternally long-legged Greatmother Winter, who's come out of the workshop to assist Greatfathers Winter on this holiest of nights…depending on where you stand on the religious spectrum, that is." The image in the mirror glared at her. "No, really, given your condition you've still got back."

"I look like a child's play doll," Sylvanas snarled.

"But you're a very pretty doll!"

"…who belongs more on a pinup calendar than on a _mantelpiece_. I believe there's a term for that in your culture—Lolita, wasn't it?"

"That's because you _see yourself_ that way."

"It's all about the sex appeal! No one wants some burly, shirtless orc or a rotting amalgamation of mismatched skin and bones going around delivering gifts and coal unless it's steeped in Nexus tradition! They want a woman who's got the body, who's got the looks. It doesn't matter if she's alive or dead so long as she has the aesthetics to get the job done!"

"You're dressed pretty conservatively, but hey, if we go by that logic we'll be filling out the niches and appealing to the masses who crave cute and cool. It's marketing ingenuity! I mean, just look at me!" Li Li squeezed around to stand in front of Sylvanas and posed herself at the mirror. Sylvanas scowled down at her. At least she looked the part of a helper, in suit and pants adjusted to her size. The hat didn't come off as ridiculous and her hair fell in a low black fountain compared to the usual high ponytail she sported. Bracelets and wooden bangles inlaid with bells hung from her wrists and a big green ribbon in the shape of a bow tied the clothes together.

She…did look cute, actually.

But one look at the mirror, at her reflection, and reality set in. What the hell was she getting herself into? She would rather spend the rest of the holiday season locked away with a yarn to read, preferably one where people died left and right and the world had little to no hope of recovering; and if it did it got wrecked again, all for her amusement and those of the fictional, cosmic variety.

Why did she always get involved in these things?

The bell over the entrance rang, signaling the arrival of a new customer; and at this everyone in the store jumped with a start and whirled to see who it was.

"Hey, where's the music?" Nova asked, kicking the snow off her boots on the welcome mat. "It's so quiet in here!"

Sylvanas's eyes bulged. The cashier quickly ducked for cover under his desk.

The fear and anxiety thickened. At the far back, among a row of cosmetics and jewelry, a few shoppers fell to their knees and began to whisper fervent prayers.

Li Li lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, Nova. Happy Winter Veil!" She couldn't have said it more nonchalantly.

"Likewise! Say, I didn't know Greatfather Winter had helpers this year," Nova said, nodding to Sylvanas. "She's cute. Who might you be?" She crossed her hands behind the small of her back and leaned forward; too close and, in Sylvanas's opinion, way below where a person should be looking at when addressing another.

So she grabbed her by the chin and yanked her eyes up to her own. "It's me, you dumbass!"

Nova's jaw unhinged. "No way…Sylvanas? Is that really you?"

"No, I'm the tooth fairy," she scoffed.

"I'll say! Change the coloring and the patterns to something more hygienically appropriate and you could be the poster child of a multi-million gold toothpaste brand!"

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. Save me your prattle. Oh, by the way, your scarf's loose." Around Nova's neck was a pretty red and green croqueted scarf with crystalline snowflakes and pinprick stars decorating every third stripe.

"Oh? Is it?"

"Indeed. Here, let me fix that for you." Sylvanas placed her hands around the ends of the scarf hanging over Nova's chest. She undid the failing knot and with swift, graceful movements redid it. Then she pulled, hard, causing a choked, chicken-like squawk to erupt from Nova's lips. "There. Better?"

"Y-Yes," she rasped. "Thank you."

Li Li sighed and put a palm to her face, shaking her head. "Anyway, how's the night treating you?"

"Fine and well. Just mostly stopped by to warm up; mighty nippy out there. What about you? What brings you two out this way? Figured you'd be partying it up; well, before the random deer showed up and starting trashing the place."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Sylvanas, feigning ignorance.

"Greatfather Winter's hopped up on bloodlust because the deer beat him up," said Li Li. "He left his bag behind so Sylvanas and I decided it'd be up to us to give him a helping hand."

"I hope that's without Stitches's hook," said Nova, "and if by any chance it does, I hope it's thoroughly sanitized."

"No hooks. We have the bag ready and we're dressed for the part, but I was thinking we're going to need a mount to seat the both of us and the rest of the stuff. Do you think Hammer will let us use her siege tank?"

" _Please,_ " Sylvanas groaned, "anything but _that_. I would rather ride the goat refugees than overshoot my target with the shock cannon." And demolish the stables _again_.

"I don't think you'll be able to," said Nova. "Last I checked, Hammer was getting, uh, busy getting hammered over at the punch bowl. If you could call it that, that is. Most of the animals and reindeer should be asleep right now in the barn, so your best bet would be to check the garage."

"The only other vehicle I can think of that we could use would be the Vultures, but those are one-seaters," said Li Li. "They wouldn't be able to accommodate all the weight."

"Well, now that you mention it, there is one mount you could take it."

"What is it?"

"Some sort of flying chariot, like that Cloud9 tile. At least I think it's a chariot, but without the wheels; that's what it was registered as on the dashboard computer. Border patrol from the Cursed Hollow found it smoking inside the Haunted Mines. They managed to haul it out and bring it back to the Chop Shop to repair it. 'S all well and good now, but we haven't been able to track down the owner. Well, what they don't know won't hurt them. It's pretty big, so there's enough space for you to put the stuff off to the side. I have the code for the start-up sequence if you want to use it."

Li Li clapped her hands. "Would we ever! But…the bag's awful big. If the chariot's as big as you say it is, then there'd only be enough room for one person to drive it. And, well, I'm, uh, not of legal age, so that means…."

Sylvanas huffed tiredly. "There's no point worrying about the details. You take the Cloud9, I'll take the chariot. We'll split the gifts fifty-fifty and get moving once we have everything assorted."

"Then that's settled!" said Nova. "You're going to rock that chariot, Sylvanas. Your outfit reminds me a little bit of it, so you'll definitely stand out."

Sylvanas stopped in midstride. Glancing over her shoulder with the bag draped over the over, not to mention in that outfit, no one could take the sinister, challenging expression quite seriously…but then again, none dared to outright say it. "What do you mean 'stand out'?"

* * *

There was a buzzing as Nova inputted the four digit code, and then foot by foot the metal garage door lifted and clanked open, receding on its rails into the mechanical darkness above. At her side, Li Li and Sylvanas caught their first full look of the so-called chariot parked at the leftmost corner of the garage, away from the siege tanks of Bama "The Hammer" Kowalski, the Hammer of War World III, and Grimina Doomhammer.

The bag fell from Sylvanas's limp hands. "Are you kidding me," she said dully.

Nova shrugged. "Well, it's not exactly festive for this particular holiday, but I'd say its design does this nighttime setting wonders, don't you agree?"

"I'll show you 'wonders'," Sylvanas drawled, and made to draw the dagger from her hip sheath.

"Wait a second!" cried Li Li, clapping a hand around her wrist and shoving her body between them. "Has anyone tested it out since it was fixed?"

"I gave it a quick run not too long ago," said Nova. "Trust me, this baby can _fly_. We're talking up to at least two-hundred kliks on the speedometer if you're not flooring it. I bet you, if someone were to place bets on who'd win a race between Falstad and whoever's driving this thing, I'd put my money on that person."

"Yes, but only if it was Sylvanas. Anybody else and you'd put your stake on Swiftwing, even if he was losing."

Nova's face and ears burned. "Th-That's not true! It…It really depends on who's behind the wheel! Really!"

"Heh, sure you do." Li Li grinned. "Man, you should look yourself in a mirror. You don't even need a scarf to keep warm!"

"Sh-Shut up!"

"I can't believe I'm going to ride that," Sylvanas told them. She did not sound thrilled. No, not at all.

"Think of the children, Sylvanas!" said Li Li. "The adults! Their pets! There's no greater joy to Winter Veil if they don't have presents to show off to everyone else!"

"And here I thought bragging rights was the antithesis of what Winter Veil was all about."

"It's only one aspect!"

Sylvanas blew air from her cheeks. "I'll tell you what: I'll give you my license and have you drive the chariot—"

"No way I'm getting a black mark on my record."

"It's just for one night. I know someone in the Underworks who makes counterfeits for a living—"

"Uh huh. Forget it. My record's going to stay as clean as Johanna's knick-knack collection. Besides, you're the Banshee Queen! What harm is driving a chariot fit for a magical girl anime's going to do to you?" Li Li huffed and put her arms akimbo. "And here I thought you had brass! Hmph, I guess I was wrong!" She lifted her nose and tossed her ponytail with a flip of the hand.

Sylvanas peeled her lips inward, revealing gum and fanged teeth at her. Then her features relaxed, settling for a scowl. She tugged on one end of Nova's scarf. "Where's the code for the start-up?"

"It's in the office," she said.

"Go get it."

"You mean you're going?"

"Yes, Nova. I'm going."

"Then can I come with?"

"I don't care, just go! Before I change my mind!"

"Ooh! Let me get changed first!" Nova tore away from her, pelting into the garage where her footsteps yelled and echoed. She vaulted over the hood of the War World tank and disappeared around the bend.

"You're doing a good thing, Sylvanas," said Li Li, nodding approvingly, proudly, and maybe a touch smugly that she got her way. "I know in the deep, dark recesses of that rotting, necromantic carcass, your heart feels the same way, too."

"Put a sock in it." Sylvanas retrieved the sack from the ground, bore it across her shoulders, and began plodding across the floor toward the chariot. Li Li tagged close behind her. "If I were alive, I would already be in a diabetic coma. I can only imagine this will be the last of the tomfoolery I will have to put up this night."

* * *

"No. I was wrong. _IT WASN'T!_ " She had to yell over the roar of the wind and the music on the dashboard PC. She clung onto the handles of the chariot, the three large stars on its front end blaring loud and purple in the clear dark night. The afterimages it and the Cloud9 tile trailed in their wake like the glassy glimmer of the sun on a lake. Nova clung to her like a parasite, breasts flush against her back, one arm slung around her waist, the other holding a smaller sack of gifts beside her. For a brief instance she had to wonder how the hell she wasn't freezing her tits off, what with being dressed more…freely, flashing all that skin and legs. She could've at least brought a cloak; her own lack of body warmth wasn't going to make her any more comfortable than she probably already was.

From the loudspeakers, the lyrics crackled and fluctuated in and out in static quality:

" _Who's that, look,  
_ _Flying higher than a bird,  
_ _SAILOR! SAILOR MOON!  
_ _She's got a life in the sky  
_ _And another here on Earth.  
_ _SAILOR! SAILOR MOON!_

 _She's got her cat, Luna,  
_ _Who gives her advice.  
_ _She's so fine,  
_ _So stand by her side!_

 _SAILOR! SAILOR MOON!  
_ _SAILOR! SAILOR MOON!"_

Nova tossed her head back, laughing in her ear. "This sounds so nineteen-ninety-eighties!"

"Well your nineteen-ninety-eighties music is absolutely atrocious! They couldn't have come up with anything else better than this simplistic garbage?!"

"NO!"

"Not every magical girl show got systemically butchered by corporate bigwigs and had a corny opening theme song, you know!" Li Li called out. Riding next to them she had the rest of the gifts in her own bag and a wrapped present held aloft, ready to be tossed into a waiting chimney.

"Prove me wrong then!" said Sylvanas.

"Okay! When we get back!"

"I see some houses up ahead!" Nova shouted, jabbing a finger Sylvanas had to duck under at the approaching rows looming steadily over the horizon. "Step on it, Sylvanas! For the children!"

"For what little remains of my sanity!" Sylvanas grumbled, and pressed down on the pedal. The chariot rattled and then rocketed past Li Li on a burst of speed.

"Hey, wait up!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Title:** Unexpected Kindness  
 **Description:** Sylvanas receives a gift from an unlikely source.  
 **Notes:** Or, rather, this can also be titled ALL OF A SUDDEN, UNEXPECTED FEELS: THE CHAPTER.  
 **Notes2:** Before this anthology, I had considered writing a more serious storyline that'd follow Sylvanas and the rest of the cast in the Nexus. I wouldn't mind putting in more, well, "dramatic" pieces in between the humor now and again.  
 **Notes3:** There was going to be more content in this chapter as well, but I figured it would clash with the more somber mood that settles into place in the latter half. I can guarantee I'll drop the proverbial anvil on that in the next chapter and get back into the swing of things.  
 **Notes4:** Also, I'm pretty sure I butchered Li-Ming's character like I did with Nova in regards to Earth's history in Chapter 12. Then again, she gave me the impression of being a pretty posh person in both pride and just the general sound of her voice, so I wrote her based around that.

* * *

Everywhere Sylvanas looked, there was pink and red. Cards, decorations, signs and posters, clothing, sugary delights and condiments, flowers of the plastic and fake varieties blooming in the gardens or set on display at the shops. People giving out their gifts and propositions of dinner, movies, and behind-the-doors intimacy to their significant others, and oh how they gushed. Sweet, diabetic, fairy tale come true. Heroes, most of all, were given particular attention from all walks of life: nobles, peasants, fans, and friends; even the villains got in, if you counted their presents (or "Valentines", as Doc Morales called them) being booby-trapped to be sincere.

Everyone was busy doing their own thing. Animal rights activists somehow snuck into the barns and stables and freed all the mounts and beasts from "the shackles of their oppression" and so Hammer and Sonya got a group together to hunt them down and herd them back to their pens with nets shot from the shock cannon and walled craters while Valla specifically went about hunting down the enemy. Leoric and Anub'arak had raised the dead in the graveyard, chased out the visitors, and threw themselves a party among the skeletons, shades, man-sized earthworms and beetles. The swimming pool was all well and dandy until Murky swarmed it and the surrounding marshes with an army of murlocs and Stitches, in his outlandishly hand-crafted "bikini" cannonballed literally out of nowhere from the Vikings' longboat (how he was able to fit inside it was a complete mystery). Then there were Chen, Kael'thas, and the Butcher rallying all the patrons in the taverns into a massive cook-off that, once again, left the cellars empty and the kitchens scorched to blackened oblivion.

It was not even the worst of it, Sylvanas reminded herself, as her ears perked at the sound of masculine ruckus. She turned her head in its direction and openly sneered as Jaina dealt with another gaggle of smitten, simple-minded morons. Behind her was a pile of gifts in every size and shape, bouquets in nauseatingly fluorescent, matching colors, and stuffed animals; and at that moment Brightwing emerged from the pile of fluff to fly up and light on her shoulder.

Her skin, which was normally blue and green, was now a mandarin orange, her belly and wings tropically green and forestial.

Even the damn dragon was in on it!

Sylvanas flashed her fangs at them—not that they saw, so enamored and ignorant were those fools—and stalked off. Surely there was a dark corner to be found in the Nexus; all the colors and the happiness made her think of how people with epilepsy had to put up with strobelights and disco balls flashing their repetitive, psychedelic rainbow. It was madness! It was hell! Out of one diabetic coma and into another! Winter Veil was bad enough!

Sylvanas shuddered and reached behind her back to brush pixie dust and glitter from her cloak, though by now they were no longer to be found. The outfit and bow were locked away in not a closet but a high-tech bank vault secured by wards she made from scratch: wards that could curse, fry, electrocute, and vaporize anyone who made the fatal error of slipping up. There was also a spell, too, that could teleport a person some thousands of feet into air, causing them to plummet to their death.

She took stock of her surroundings. All forest and child-sized toadstools, dotting here and there with reeds and that odd, humming plant herablists called the nirnroot. Nowhere near the Haunted Mines. Not that she would want to go in there; the place had been under renovations since the fall and still was until further notice, most likely in part because the sheer manpower of particular Heroes could easily take advantage of the terrain and push onward before the first of the bone golems were summoned. Then that abominable Star Chariot had been recovered and set back the construction by however long it would take to reopen them. She scowled and continued skulking, shoving aside the memory of her first meeting of its owner to the furthest possible corner of her mind. This would have to do.

Her train of thought derailed when there sounded a string of high-pitched yipping, and the recognition caused her ears to flatten and a groan to be stifled. Oh Darkness, she hoped it wasn't _that thing_ again. Already the scene replayed itself in her head—the snow, the children, her and Nova and Jaina and Valla and Kerrigan with her Ultralisk, the whirlwind of steel and fur and _slobber_ —

This time, she would be ready.

Sylvanas crept closer. Not much to her surprise, the source of the barking indeed came from the hulking, armored Greater Dog, on all fours and staring up at the face of the girl on the rock with that stupidly happy, panting look on its face. Around them in a semicircle were the rest of its kin, smaller dogs pure white and one-hundred percent pure fluff; one of them was curled up in her lap, tail thumping and ready to fall off if it so decided to stretch its legs.

On the other hand, her surprise came from seeing the absolute mountain of presents and flowers teetering all around them. Then again, the folk of the Nexus had some sort of fixation on anything remotely Asian that bordered on zealotry, so it was not so much a surprise that Li-Ming of Caldeum got swamped with welcome gifts, love letters and marriage proposals, a position as lead singer in the Elite Tauren Chieftain's impromptu band (Sig Nicious and the others were woefully left behind), and fan clubs that locked horns with one another and waged war whenever and wherever they met. And it would seem, just recently, she had earned the adoration of the Greater Dog and the dogs; even the quilen!

Sylvanas recalled there was a term for that kind of person: _Mary Sue_. Girl who had all the power at her disposal, got served hand and foot, was given everything on a platter, and had the love of many; she wondered if, upon living in that land of Caldeum, if foreigners like her changed their names to better reflect their integration into their host society. She would laugh if she wasn't so damn angry.

Oh well, at least she looked down on Jaina and Kael'thas for being mages, so that was a plus in her book. Especially Jaina: pretty, disgusting, _happy_ Jaina.

In Li-Ming's hands was a rectangular box of candies. Chocolates? Truffles? Whatever it was, she kept reminding them: "No, no, you can't have these! These are poisonous! It wouldn't do to have you all sick! What would the children think?" The dogs at her feet shifted their weight and eyed the piece between her fingers. The pup in her lap tilted its head back and lapped its pink tongue across the underside of her chin. She giggled, a high, melodious, girlish sound, and ruffled the fur between its ears. "No, stop, stop! You'll not sway me with your cuteness!"

"Oh, so you do love something other than yourself," Sylvanas called out upon approach. "Maybe now you can learn to pipe down when we're in the middle of the match, instead of screaming out your kill count when we're supposed to be hiding and in position!"

Li-Ming paused in her ministrations and turned her head to see the Banshee Queen. Then she popped the candy in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "Ah, it's you. What was your name again…Sylvanas, yes? The 'undead' variant."

"So I am."

"That's right~ You're the one who, shall I quote Mister Findlay, 'doesn't do anything'. Not even love yourself, so I'm told."

"You're both misunderstood. I love myself. What I don't love is the Ranger General variant." Seeing her every day reminded her of how… _human_ she used to be. An elf with _feelings_. An elf whom, she was pretty, acted just as idiotic as the rest of the Nexus. My, was she young! And not for the better, she tacked on mentally. "The only thing I 'do' is me."

"Not even love?" She snatched another candy—closer now, Sylvanas saw it was a chocolate truffle—and tossed it in that gullet of hers. Chew, chew, chew.

"Not even," Sylvanas said, nodding. "Of course, we're not on Azeroth. Then I would have cause to worry about my mortality. My…guardian angels, if you'll call them that, didn't follow me into the Nexus. Here I can die and come back, again and again, and not face the inevitable darkness that awaits me once my luck runs dry. But that, miss wizard, I don't intend to happen. I _won't_ make it happen."

"For how long?" Swallow. Grab another truffle.

"As long as it takes." That is, until all the val'kyr sacrificed themselves in exchange for any future resurrections. Idly she wondered what they, and Undercity, were doing in her absence, and hoped that Mishka and her dolt friend weren't attempting to petition building a quilen corral again to anyone in a position of authority, especially Nathanos.

"Huh." Li-Ming took a bite from the truffle, savored it, tossed the rest in to finish. All the dogs' eyes were on her, calculating her every movement. "Well, don't take this the wrong way, Lady Queen: it's one thing to not like everyone…but it's another thing to not love yourself. There should be _some_ pride in that. I mean, look at me; I'm a gorgeous wizard who's destined for greatness! And I'm powerful to boot! What's there not to love about me?"

 _That teenage arrogance, for one,_ Sylvanas thought, resisting the urge to scowl. Darkness, her head was hotter than Kael'thas's. But, "Of course I have pride in myself! That's par for the course in being an elf, not to mention I, as you so mentioned, am Queen. The Banshee Queen, for I am the first of my kind. That, however, is beside the point. I want nothing to do with this farce of a holiday."

"It's not really official, I do believe."

"Whatever it is! Why dedicate one day out of the entire year when you can damn well do it any other day? For that matter, what makes this particular day so important? Why even the cause for celebration?" Sylvanas sniffed disdainfully. "It's a waste of time and resources. All this gallivanting and chivalry make me sick!"

"Hmmm," Li-Ming hummed.

For a while she sat there on her rock, eating her truffles. Now and then she would stroke the pup on its head or its back and its tail would begin again a fresh wave of wagging and thumping. On his haunches the Greater Dog danced and stamped his front, gauntleted paws at Sylvanas, but he knew better to take his chances with her so he was content to admire her from this distance.

"Surely," the wizard resumed, slowly drawing the word out, "there's someone?"

Sylvanas tipped her chin up arrogantly at her. "Not a one!"

"What of your people?"

"A means to an end. My bulwark and my arrows."

"Well, that's one way to love, I suppose. Guess it comes with being undead."

"You know who to thank," Sylvanas growled.

"Yes, yes, I've heard plenty of it the Nexus over." Li-Ming selected another piece of chocolate. "But it tells me one thing."

"And what would that be?"

"You were alive at one point."

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "Congratulations! How long did that take you to figure that out?"

"I'm being serious!"

"As am I!"

"Oh, just hear me out, why don't you? You were alive at one point," she repeated. "You could feel more than, well, what you usually do now. Am I wrong in that assumption?"

"You know little if anything about my personal life."

"And your evasiveness makes it all the more telling that you did, and, most certainly, you loved. Any type of love, really; this holiday isn't just for your gallivanting, you know."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Good idea. Ah, just a moment." Li-Ming set aside the empty tray on the ground, causing Greater Dog to jump up and the rest of the pack to push among each other in a bid to get closer and lick any crumbs; even the puppy stretched its neck as far as it could, even though it was nowhere within reach. She twisted around, dug through the mountain behind her, and fished out a flat, square box wrapped in a fat red ribbon. "Here you go. Happy holiday."

Her ears shot up. "Wh-What?" Her hands automatically accepted the present and brought it up to her face. She read the fancy writing on the cover. "'Gallifrey and Sons Chocolatier, proudly serving the Nexus since N.D. 9225 (and counting). Now back with popular demand! Mana-Flavored Sweets.'" She peered up at Li-Ming and stared, as though it was Leoric—or Nexus forbid, _Arthas himself_ —gave them to her and not the pretty wizard.

Li-Ming grimaced. "You…can eat mana, right? I am told the undead in your universe can no longer indulge in physical sustenance."

Sylvanas nodded and swallowed (although there was nothing to swallow at all). "Y-Yes. I still can. Undead elves, as well." She glanced at the box again. "Why?"

"I already explained it to you. Besides, it's a pleasant feeling to give a gift to another, yes? It's all in good spirits."

"This is a pity gift."

For a quick second, Li-Ming looked affronted. Then she regained her composure and sniffed. "Well, if you want to look at it that way. But really, we aren't enemies by any stretch of the imagination; we haven't done much of anything to earn each other long-lasting ire. After all, you don't need to be a certainly obvious stalker with a crush to join in on the festivities let alone all the good eats. Friends, too, you must know."

"Friends," Sylvanas parroted, testing the word as though it was a foreign substance.

Li-Ming nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "Friends. Regardless of what you think of me, I don't have that many. At least, not where I come from." She laughed, features softening and…was that sadness? If indeed it was, then Sylvanas thought it looked very wrong on her. "I had a couple of them. They're…well…the world moved on without them."

"Oh…."

"Ah, but listen to me! All doom and gloom! They wouldn't want me to be this way—not with all these bright colors and cute dogs here. They can tell when something's wrong, you know. Like Doodle there."

Sylvanas blinked owlishly. "…Doodle?" The same high-pitched bark had her looking down at her feet where a dog gazed back up at her. It spun in a circle a couple times, then got on its hind legs and danced a little jig, reminding her of the odd dance Rehgar would do when in ghost wolf form. Absently she asked herself how the wizard could tell any of these dogs apart. "You…You have the wrong idea."

Li-Ming arched an eyebrow. "Do I? Perhaps. Still, it's the thought that counts."

"I…guess it does." She picked shyly at the ribbon. Shy; that was a feeling she hadn't had in some twenty or so years. Had it really been that long ago?

Li-Ming took note of the shift in demeanor. "Well, don't just stand there! Come, sit. The day's still young and I need someone to help me get all this stuff back to the dorm later; the dogs will help. What do you say? Unless, that is, you're in a hurry—"

Sylvanas shook her head. "No. No. I…I'll accompany you. For a while," she tacked on, squaring back her shoulders and setting her ears apart in a proud, firm stance. "Don't get used to it."

Li-Ming shrugged and turned her attention to the dogs, but there was a sly smile touching light on her lips, as though it wasn't quite directed at the dogs. Sylvanas brushed the thought off and walked up to the rock, silently proud of herself when the pack parted for her. She sat down adjacent from the wizard, knees drawn up partway with the box nestled in the space between. Doodle went over and made himself comfortable at her side.

She felt the Greater Dog approach before the shadow of its armor covered her, and felt something like cold iron on her shoulder. She craned her neck back and saw that, just like the pup, it gazed back at her.

Regardless of the everlasting mask of smiling happiness on its face, it seemed to have understood.

Sylvanas scowled and brushed the gauntlet off. Then she focused on the box and undid the bow on the box.

* * *

 _"Here, Sylvanas," she said, and the Ranger General turned around to find a flat bar gift-wrapped held almost right up to her face. She backed off a step and got a better look at the person offering it to her._

 _Alleria grinned toothily. "Happy holiday."_

 _Sylvanas made a face, as though she had a lick of something sour. "Alleria…it's not until next week."_

 _Her cheeks colored. "I-Is it?" She looked away, the tips of her ears drooping. "Well, uh, just take it anyway! I mean, it's not much, but still! After all," she said, focusing once more on her sister, "you'll be heading out soon."_

 _"Yes," said Sylvanas. "We have to once again 'remind' the trolls about the lines drawn between our land and theirs. They won't get far this time."_

 _"Of course they won't. You're the embodiment of Quel'dorei marksmanship. Your aim is always true. The trolls would be wise to fear you." Her grin softened into a doting smile. "Plus, you're my little sister. You've bested me many times over the years. You've earned your keep. So, here," she gently shook the bar, "take it. Think of me when you're out there and have a bite for me, because that's the last bit of chocolate I could find in the pantry." She pressed her lips together and blushed again._

 _Sylvanas stared at the bar of chocolate, up at the look of embarrassment Alleria wore, then again at the sweets. "The pantry," she repeated blandly. "You couldn't have gone to the market instead?"_

 _The elder shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Well, this is high-grade chocolate! We don't usually break these out unless it's for a special occasion. And, er, I know how much pride you take in keeping count of how many trolls you kill, between the rest of your troop. Consider this is a good luck gift, or, uh, a welcome home present when you get back."_

 _"I don't need luck. All that matters is my skill." Sylvanas said, accepting the bar. "But…thank you. I'll be sure to savor this treat when I can find the time for it."_

* * *

And although it had the shape and texture of chocolate, it melted on her tongue as soon as Sylvanas tasted it. She leaned back, legs now stretched out all the way, head tilted toward the sky. She placed her hand on Doodle and gently scratched her nails into its fur, causing it to grunt pleasurably and lay against her hip.

It was just like having a fill of the Eversong rivers in the spring; cool and deep, steeped in the musk of earth and vegetation with a thick, sugary layer that felt like cotton.

 _Just like magic._

 _Before…._

— _stormwind-lordaeron-quel'thas-draenor-DRAENOR—_

Sylvanas fingered another sweet.

The faint outline of a half-moon could be discerned. No sign of planets in the Twisting Nether, no sign of floating landmasses held just by the gravity of calm, fibrous, unstable energy.

Just the silent blue beyond.

At the corner of her eye, Li-Ming stretched her arms above her head and yawned loudly, followed by the subtle clack of teeth meeting upon a closed jaw. "Who knew the Nexus could have such nice weather. I wouldn't mind if it was like this all the time."

Sylvanas continued to stare at the sliver of moon. "Only once in a while," she said. Then she dipped her head and took the candy into the cusp of her hand.


	16. Chapter 16

**Title:** Unexpected Kindness II: The Expecting  
 **Description:** Sylvanas receives a surprise visit, and then another gift.  
 **Notes1:** I would've had this up a few days ago, but recently I started a new job so updates are probably going to be more sporadic than they usually are. My apologies if some sections appear to be rushed.  
 **Notes2:** Don't worry, Turtlefish, the Grand Phoenix is still here! She has not forgotten about Nova, and neither has she forgotten about the collection of Sylvanas/Nova oneshots that apparently (to my surprise) people are interested in. But, uh, I'm really hesitant to call those _romance_ because, well, just look at their interactions. It'd be more like...a bloodier, dark comedy version of _boke and tsukkomi_? Also, I believe today is White Day in Japan, so...technically I didn't really miss anything particularly important.  
 **Notes3:** I had forgot to mention in the previous chapter, but the two people Sylvanas thinks about ("Mishka and her dolt friend [Armi]") are from my other fanfic, _No More Retries_ , a WoW/Final Fantasy 13 fic. They are my mains in Warcraft, a blood elf (although I RP her as a high elf) Beast Mastery hunter (Mishka) and an Arms/Protection human warrior (Armi). Them wanting to set up a quilen corral in Undercity comes from an idea of my that may or may not be written.  
 **Notes4:** There may or may not be butchering of Starcraft canon in here, in regards to the Ghost Program, regardless of my skimming and reading of the entry on the Starcraft wikia. I'm kinda expecting one of my unnamed Guests (you know who you are) to correct me if there is, haha.  
 **Notes5:** Although planned in advance, the beginning of the chapter was inspired by my playthrough of GTA: San Andreas. My favorite stations are CSR 103.9 and Bounce FM, so you can kind of tell that I probably had way too much fun working on that section. **  
Notes6:** Also, this will probably be the only time an F-bomb gets dropped, even if it is botched. As tempted as I am, this story won't go any higher than the T rating it's at.  
 **Notes7:** Yes, Lucario, you found the right page: it's Fantastic-Phoenix. I do anthro art. Yes, I consider the other stuff that's not anime/manga-related to be HotS fan art. I don't know how to use Photoshop and I prefer black and white over applying colors. It's the best I can offer.

* * *

Sometime later, Sylvanas went for another walk—one that was more contemplative, genuine, and relaxed. Still the sight of decoration and flair of the holiday unnerved her, and the pins and needle sensation of mana-infused chocolate swirled numbingly in her veins and lingered on her tongue.

She slowed to a stop and looked behind her, at the dormitory nestled at the base of the indent in the shrub and scrub consisting of the valley. She could make out some of the dogs flittering in and out of the building, presumably delivering the last of Li-Ming's presents to her side of the room she was assigned to. There probably wouldn't be that much space for her to move around in, so however much they had left they would deposit them wherever she could access them: the library, the arcane sanctum and towers, the training fields, the attics; in short, her favorite haunts. Perhaps she would come across Jaina's pile later and gloat about how much more attention she got; kids like her thrived on making such an accomplishment, self-indulgent as it was.

For now, Li-Ming had gone off to the fairgrounds where the height of activity was, riding on the Greater Dog's shoulders and her face turned up into the wind, the exhilaration of being so high up in the air shining in her face and extending to her hair flowing free as a windsock behind her. The other dogs, those that had finished with their tasks below, crowded around their alpha in a fluffy, furry, white circle, all identical and open-mouthed smiles.

Meanwhile, Doodle the pup kept pace with Sylvanas, feet pattering on the grass much more quickly than the slow stride her feet were taking on. For once, she did not begrudge the company of another, especially an animal from another universe far removed from the Nexus, nor, surprisingly, did she mind or care if it had already imprinted itself upon her; it would make fast friends with all the quilen.

"I'll suppose I'll show you around," she told Doodle, who glanced up at the sound of her voice. "Introduce you to the other beasts; that is, if Valla and her band of troglodytes managed to round them all up and herd them back. As far as I'm concerned, you and your pack don't have a home to go to, or if you do we of the Hero League have no idea where it is. If it's even in this particular plane. But that doesn't matter, now does it?" Doodle responded with an affirmative yip. Sylvanas sighed. "Yes, that's what I thought. Well, come along then. Try to keep up—"

"THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!"

Music drowned out her words and the words from the speaker—a funky riff that escalated up and down in keys. That, and it came out popping and crackling with static. A sudden blast of wind gusted up behind them, forcing Sylvanas and Doodle to a stop. The Banshee Queen twisted around to see where the source of it could be coming from.

The Medivac came roaring in from the direction of the marshes. As it came closer toward them, the vehicle slowed to a crawl, its shadow passing over Sylvanas like some herculean beast. Then turned around, a complete three hundred sixty degrees, and hovered in midair. Beneath the Medivac a hatch opened and out shot a pink tractor beam, from which a platform descended to the crescendo of the riffs and obnoxious synthesizers blaring in the background. On it were two people: one in a bulky suit of pink and gold armor, decorated in large hearts and fake angelic wings; the other in a skimpy _fuku_ that matched suspiciously and eerily the description of clothing magical girls of anime were prone to wear in the fabled Nineteen-Ninety Eighties.

At first, Sylvanas thought the Medivac was heading in the same direction as the Nephalem Li-Ming, toward the fairgrounds, for what reason other than a possible medical emergency? Lieutenant Rosa Morales didn't use her dropship for anything but that and a quick getaway in matches. Second, she wouldn't be playing music from the mythological Nineteen-Ninety-Seventies, what Nova called the Decade of the Hippy (whatever the hell that was). So what in the world was going?

When she saw them come down the platform doing the Robot, not to mention the lyrics blasting from wherever the speakers were located on the Medivac, Sylvanas went on full alert:

" _Rollercoaster~ of love~  
_ _(Say what?)  
_ _Rollercoaster…oh-hoo-hoo-hoo!  
_ _Rollercoaster~  
_ _(Ride!)  
_ _Of love~  
_ _Rollercoaster…oh-hoo-hoo-hoo!"_

And so forth it went on in similar variations. Doodle barked at the new arrivals and wagged his tail hard enough for his hips to move back and forth.

"What is this?" Sylvanas asked impatiently.

"Our sensors have detected negative energies indicating the telltale signs of a lonely, broken heart!" said Morales, still in the throes of the mechanical Robot. "They were so powerful! So intense! That we had to investigate at once! We have reason to believe that, of all the people celebrating the joys and pitfalls of love, friendship, and camaraderie, you, Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner, are the only one in the Nexus who is suffering this malady…and single!"

"In the name of the stars, we will heal you!" declared Star Princess Li-Ming. "Your heart! Your soul! The power of love and light will leave nothing untouched! Come, Sylvanas!" She stopped dancing, or whatever passed for striking anime-inspired poses, got on one knee, and spread out her arms. "Let us shower you in the warmth of my bosom!"

"Get the hell out of here!" Sylvanas snapped, insulted and scandalized. "I'm not lonely! My heart doesn't even work anymore to constitute brokenness, either! I'm undead!"

"That doesn't matter to me, Sylvanas! It doesn't matter to anyone who's looking to mend your wounds! Even though your internal organs no longer have the means to function properly, it still retains the process to feel—physically! Emotionally! SPIRITUALLY! You are no different now than you were when you were legally alive! And if we're to believe the machinations of afterlife after undeath, the Powers That Be have had your number on speed dial for a long time; but be you not afraid, I will save you from the bowels of eternal, tortuous darkness!"

"I would rather go there than to the kind of hell that's sitting stacked below your neckline!" Sylvanas jabbed a finger directly at the twin mounds pressed firmly but not too tightly against the Star Princess's blouse. "What kind of person do you take me for?!"

"Well for one, you won't suffocate—"

"I'd prefer being thrown off my feet and have the better part of my bones crushed to dust by the Greater Dog than stuff my face in _that!_ "

A scowl flickered across Li-Ming's face. "Better me than, you know, Tyrande; that, my dear, is a surefire to endure suffocation. Then again, there's no such thing as too much 'talent'."

"I'll have none of it! Go hug Doodle instead!" The pup barked and, as if on command, charged at Li-Ming, and leapt into her arms, to who she barely caught. She had to move her head back to avoid being slobbered by his searching tongue. "There you go. Here's your daily dosage of love, diabetes, and all that sickeningly sweet crap. Beam back up into the stars or whatever and find someone else to preach. Like, oh, I don't know, the _Space Lord_. I hear he's been a real pain in the ass."

"But it's my mission to dispense positive harmonic energies across the stars! I can't focus on just one person!"

"Well that's just too bad!" Sylvanas sneered openly at her in a reed-thin voice. Darkness, at least the Sanctuary variant knew when to back off. This Li-Ming was all up in her face as much as Johanna was with the Light and getting her to attend her sermons at the Church more often.

"We can't just leave you as you are!" said Morales, who was still dancing (no longer the Robot but now in the throes of the Running Man) to the beat of the song. "My nanites can only do so much, but this…this is one of those problems they can't resolve. As your doctor, I recommend a couple hours of bloodless interaction with whom you consider to be…well, I'd be hard pressed to say they're _friends_ but _acquaintances_ would pretty much be hitting the sweet spot. But hey, I won't stop you if you're bonding on the battlefield; that's part and parcel for being in the Nexus!"

"That's all fine and dandy. I think I'll do just that."

"Well that's great!" Morales beamed.

"How's about we do it…hmm, I don't know, now?" Sylvanas emphasized her point by smacking her fist against an open palm a few times, glaring challengingly at the pair. "No one to see…nor report…for miles around. It sounds all so…perfect."

"But that's against the rules!" said the Star Princess, aghast.

"Big whoop. I don't do the rules unless it's within my own realm, and when I do…well, let's just say they don't see the light of day for…hmm, give or take a couple years." Sylvanas shrugged and rolled her shoulders, limbered her neck from side to side. "Poor, poor Koltira. He really should've known better."

Li-Ming scrambled to her feet and in her haste dropped Doodle in favor of grabbing her wand and focus. The pup sat down on his hind legs and raised his front ones, eyeing the wand expectedly, as though it were a stick to fetch. "Lieutenant Morales, I can't tell if this variant is friend or foe! The rational side of me is telling me to help her, but the emotional side is saying to blast her into atomic oblivion! What should I do?"

 _What difference does rationality and emotionality make?_ Sylvanas thought, scowling deeply.

"It's alright, Li!" said Morales. "The sensors picked up more than just negative energy! Allow me!" She took a step forward and raised her arm-mounted cannon at Sylvanas. Before the Banshee Queen could draw out the shadow dagger, thinking it a concussion grenade, a pink light shot forth and encompassed her from head to toe: the nanobot healing beam. Sylvanas cringed and shielded her eyes against the light as it scanned her. Behind the Plexiglas visor of her helmet, Morales squinted hard in concentration.

"There we go!" she said after a moment's silence, and to Sylvanas's relief clicked off the beam. "My scanner says that—"

"If this has anything to do with that overdrawn 'meme', as you call it," Sylvanas began, "I'm going to reanimate that dead horse and beat you over the head with it! And whatever's left of it I'll bring down the sun, moon, and stars to Li-Ming while I club her senseless!"

"Far from it! It shows that somewhere in that deep dark abyss of a heart there's a ray of sunshine! Now whether or not it's going to grew three times larger instantaneously is up to debate, but I can take a guess and say someone's touched you in a way you've haven't felt in a long, long time!"

"You had better choose your next words very carefully," Sylvanas growled warningly, "or gods help you, if it goes in the direction I _think_ it's going in—"

"No, no! This is a good thing! You must find this person, whoever it is, and bond with them more often! Open yourself up! Express yourself…as non-violently as you can manage! Think of this an opportunity to undo the negative stereotypes and assumptions that comes with being undead. I mean, you don't kill everyone that annoys you; look at Li Li! Anybody can become a better person. If they can make the pains to change, then so can you."

"Oh spare me your motivational babble! Being a hardass is a requirement for my title. And the only reason I don't kill Li Li on a daily basis (unlike a certain somebody) is because she's a child and I have no intentions of incurring the wrath of that lush she calls an uncle. See, I'm not entirely heartless."

"Well yes," Star Princess Li-Ming agreed, "but once she's an adult—"

"She'll still be a kid. That is how elves view the younger, lesser races."

Morales elbowed Li-Ming in the ribs. "You see that? She said so herself. She's got it in her. Have faith! That's the point of being a Star Princess, right?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. Then, more resolutely, "Yes, you're right! I mustn't forget my mission. I thank you, Lieutenant Morales, for reminding me thusly so. As for you, Lady Windrunner," Sylvanas quirked an eyebrow at her. The Star Princess returned her wand and foci back to their place and stood for a moment to catch her breath. Then, once again, she got on her knee and held out her arms, exclaiming: "Come! Spread your heart's wings and fly!"

Sylvanas scoffed. "I said it before and I'll say it again, so kindly etch this in your feeble little minds." She leaned forward and, as clear and pronounceable, _"No."_

"Come on, Sylvanas," Morales wheedled. "What's one hug going to hurt?"

"I don't do hugs."

"You say that now, but in time you'll be doing the opposite! You'll be doing a new running gag!"

Sylvanas closed her eyes, breathed in and out through her nose. Her ears turned sideways and folded against the back of her head. "Doodle," she said to the dog, voice tight. "Get behind me." Doodle barked and went to stand as she requested. "Don't make me repeat myself," she told Morales and Li-Ming.

"Don't make _me_ come over and give you a dose of marshmallow hell," said the Star Princess. "Men and women alike can't resist the marshmallows! Trust me, it feels real good!"

Sylvanas crossed her arms, nodded her head once. "Do you know what feels even better?"

"Better than that?"

"Better than that."

"What is it?"

"Birds."

Li-Ming blinked. "Eh? Birds?"

Then Sylvanas's eyes snapped open and the crimson light in them pulsed once. The birds in the trees around them, all black and brooding in their nests, suddenly ceased what they were doing, and the world they stood in became quiet.

"GET THEM," she commanded.

A wave of red pinpricks lit up the branches high and low, sweeping in from left to right. The air grew loud with the sound of squawking, the air thrumming with the sound of beating wings. Two groups emerged from this black swarm: one directed at the Medivac, the other nosediving straight for Morales and the Star Princess.

"Gods alive!" Li-Ming exclaimed. "Are those ravens or crows?"

"Does it matter?" Morales asked. "Let's go! We're gonna get bombed!" She grabbed the girl by the crook of her elbow, yanked her back onto the platform, and from somewhere on her suit input a command. The tractor beam engulfed them and carried them into the belly of the dropship.

As soon as the plate clicked seamlessly closed, the birds were upon them. What followed was a pitter-patter reminiscent of rain…but smelled far from it. The group that had aimed at the pair where they had stood swooped up and thrashed and pecked at the windshield, obscuring their vision. Some even dared to attack the thrusters at the stern but were immediately incinerated and fell back to earth, charred and smelling gamey.

Something crackled and sparked from within the ship, and just before it took off the Star Princess's voice boomed from unseen speakers, as though she were talking through a tin can. "This isn't over, Sylvanas! I _will_ make you see the Light! You won't go blind from it, either! _Thus is my missiooooooonnnnn!_ " The thrusters emitted a furnace blast of heat, scorching more of the birds into crispy meat; the rest managed to avoid it and fled into the sky, in part of Sylvanas breaking the compulsion spell binding them to her will.

She harrumphed at their passage. "Good riddance, I say! I thought they'd never stop going on with their nonsense prattle." She sniffed the air a few times. "Not bad. It overpowers the smell of the air freshener, but if I had to choose between this and that…well, I'd rather not become some mongrel's meal. Take no offense, Doodle." She looked toward the dog, who had picked up a dead bird and carried it to her. He looked up at her expectantly. She grimaced and shook her head. "No, keep it. At the very least it's better than chocolate."

"Woof!" Doodle barked, muffled with the bird in its mouth.

"As for the rest, let nature sort it out. Or the Greater Dog and his pack. It means little to me." Sylvanas sighed. "Well, Doodle, I can't say I have anywhere else in mind. I've no intention to going back to the dormitory just yet, or the graveyard, and I'd rather not be at the marshes again. So that just leaves," her ears deflated, "the fairgrounds." Doodle's tail went into overdrive, which made them droop even lower. "Oh for the love of…Fine. We may as well. But seriously, don't give that to Li-Ming. Or anyone in particular. They like their food when it's drenched in _their_ saliva, not yours, no matter how clean your mouth may be."

"Woof!"

* * *

Meanwhile, among the pomp and liveliness of the fairgrounds, Nova sat alone nursing a mug of mead tapped from Chen's barrel. At least, now that she took a cursory sip of it, she _hoped_ it was from his barrel; the guy was blitzed out of his mind at the moment, and, so far as she knew, the tavern was packed to the walls that no one from the outside was able to get in. In the end, it didn't matter where it came. Getting sauced was the last thing she wanted to do this day, but nothing beat having a bit of fermented honey to put warmth in her belly.

Then she glanced at the lone flower lying next to her hand. She could just imagine what Li Li and Tychus would say, and she colored slightly. Then she imagined what Kerrigan might say, would do, and she blushed angrily. She huffed at the flower and buried her face back into the mug.

Seriously, screw Kerrigan. What the hell would she know about…well…?

Nova perished the thought and downed some more mead. Damn, there went the plan for staying sober. Huh, she wondered now if, upon getting drunk, she could shoot not only straighter but better. That would certainly wipe the smug look off that Bitch Queen's face! She would, indeed, never know what hit her!

And so Nova continued to chug.

"And here, my friends, we arrive at our next exhibit in 'Disasters Waiting to Happen': a woman on a mission! To loosen her inhibitions and either make herself absolutely sick to her stomach or an even more complete ass than she's already making herself out to be! Just look at her go!"

 _That_ did not sound like Kerrigan at all: too girlish and way too British, unless Kerrigan suddenly went native overnight. That still didn't stop from Nova sputtering into her mug and shooting an indignant—and a bewildered glare immediately following it—glare at the Greater Dog and his pack. At the Hero sitting atop his shoulders. The new girl.

What was her name again? Nova's mind rifled and filtered through a dozen names in the span of a couple seconds.

"Li-Ming," she said, and judging by the look of relief and approval in her eyes, Nova guessed she was right. But, back to business and gathering her wit: "I-I won't get drunk! I'm…I'm going to drink responsibly. See, it's just this one mug!" She hefted the empty thing up at her. "Now you…you're the one I should be worried about. You're…nineteen, give or take? Somewhere around thereabouts. You're still a kid. Under the legal age, but hey, that doesn't stop the kiddies from indulging their inner dumbass. Kids are known to get wild when they have plenty in 'em, you know. Who knows what a wizard might get up to being inebriated?"

Li-Ming raised and lowered a shoulder in a shrug. "Not I, for one, but I can tell you a few tales about my friend Eirena. There was that one time in New Tristram, with the treasure goblin, a crate of snakes, and those bedeviled bovines—"

"Yeah, well, I don't care about who did what to whom or whatever transpired between the three. I've read and seen plenty of hentai to know where that's going!"

"What is this 'hentai' I keep hearing about? I'm just saying she had way too much beer and—oh. _Oh._ " Li-Ming's face went scarlet in zero to five, like a speedometer clocking in at sixty. "OH! Oh no! N-N-No! No! Nothing of the sort occurred, I swear! I was even there and, and, I mean—no, dammit, that's not what I'm trying to convey at all!"

Nova nodded knowingly. "Kinky. I didn't think of you to be that kind of girl—"

"I'm not! I'm nothing like how those strange books portray young women to be!"

"Yeah, I know you're not. You're a Nephalem. Your kind probably grows wings when you drink."

"Is it that obvious that I look and act no different than the rest of humanity?"

"Very."

"Yes, my thoughts exactly." Li-Ming petted the Greater Dog between the ears and jumped off his shoulders onto the ground. The dogs took it as a sign to plop down on the grass and relax, or to wander off with their alpha to bring cheer to the partygoers. "So enlighten me as to why you're about to drink yourself into a stupor you'll regret later."

"I already told you, I'm not," Nova rumbled.

"Then why aren't you among the others? Didn't you also receive gifts?"

"I did. Li Li says you got me and Jaina beat in how much we've got."And by that logic she also beat out on Kerrigan, too, and that made Nova feel slightly happier. Her closet was crammed with chocolates, flowers, and rubber-banded stacks of letters: proposals, confessions, and…more intimate favors. She had to imagine how much more stuff Li-Ming had. "They were nice. A bit of overkill, but I appreciate the thought."

"And yet you're so glum."

Nova sighed. "Well, since you're here I may as well tell you. No sense in lying. I'll bet you wizards can sense not just magic but read minds, anyway." Li-Ming said nothing, and if she was thinking otherwise it didn't show on her face, so Nova continued, jerking a thumb at the flower: "I wanted to give Sylvanas a…uh, present. The undead variant, that is."

"So many variants in this realm. And here I was thinking you'd already given her one."

"Nah, not that one. The Ranger General's kinda getting bombarded at the moment. She's around here somewhere. I have no idea where the Banshee Queen version might be."

"We were just at the dormitory earlier putting away my gifts. I didn't really see where she went off to, though, but if I had to guess she's probably going back to the river marshes. She seems to be drawn to that place."

"But there's nothing to do there except pick herbs and mushrooms and all that earthy stuff. Sylvanas is the type to do—"

"To do anything, I know," Li-Ming finished for her. "And that's the perfect opportunity for you to get off your sorry hide and act."

Nova's eyes widened. "What?" she exclaimed, alarmed.

"You heard me. What else is Sylvanas going to do other than brood and take random potshots at the local wildlife to sate her frustrations and deeply rooted loneliness that she'd vehemently deny if questioned? Just think: a gift from you, one of the few people she socializes but the only person she kills on an almost daily basis for…I don't know, whatever reason, might be just the thing to cheer her up."

Nova shrugged. "That, or she could just stab me between the eyes. Or kick me off a cliff. Or make me into a literal pretzel and thus snapping every bone in my body. I mean, she's no kitten." But the mental image she had of her as a chibi in nekomimi mode made her inner little girl squeal and want to take her home from an adoption center because no one else could be assed to put up with an undead woman who wore Bitchy Resting Face to a T. And if she were a kitten, she'd probably thank Nova by scratching her face. "I'm not expecting her to gush all over me." But that also provided even more…'pleasant' images, picturesque film sides with that shoujo flair, and it made Nova duck her face into the mug so Li-Ming couldn't see the flush taking over like a red tide.

Li-Ming hummed thoughtfully, put a hand to her chin. "Hmmm. Yes, you're probably right. This Sylvanas is by no means as sociable as her living counterpart."

"I know I'm right. My mind is my greatest asset. Everything else is supplemental. Even if I weren't a Ghost, I'd still be right." Gods, this whole thing was making her feel depressed. The idea of getting plastered was sounding more and more appealing by the second. She had half a mind to get up and tap off another few cups of mead or whatever was in Chen's cask that got him roaring from a block away, just to help make her forget…and maybe, just maybe, put a round between Kerrigan's stupid, smug, Zerg-y face. Because why not? She'd be doing Zagara a favor, too.

"Well," said Li-Ming, after a moment's quiet, "it would appear you won't be making any moves. If I'll have your blessing, I'll just…take this here flower and…what's the phrase…sweep Sylvanas off her feet." She made to reach for the flower—

Only to have her hand smashed down and held fast by an even stronger one fit in a black gauntlet. She winced, not because her wrist was aching (and going by the grip, any tighter and it would snap) but because she thought she heard the wood beneath the linen cave in a bit.

She looked up and was startled to see steel blue lightning glare at her. Challenging her, to outrun the storm before the calm dispersed. They were the eyes of a Ghost. "What," Nova said, dully. Emotionlessly.

Li-Ming smiled, held up her free hand in a placating gesture. "Easy now," she replied casually. "I'm just saying…if you're not going to do anything about it, I figure I could do it. That's what Best Friends are for, right? I gave her one gift already. What's one more? She'd surely appreciate it, coming from somebody who's much more courageous, more daring, and more open than the 'Best Friend' who's sitting here moping and finding solutions to her troubles at the bottom of a mug."

Nova's glare intensified. "Is that so?"

"It is."

"I see." The tightness of her grip remained. "Tell me, Li-Ming," she began, "do you like living?"

"Why yes, Nova, I do."

"Do you want to see Eirena again?"

"Indeed I want to."

"Do you want to die knowing seeing her in Sanctuary, however long ago, would be your last?"

"I have no intentions."

"Then which do you prefer?"

"Why life, obviously. Death is overrated, especially when it's mad."

"I see." Nova let go of her wrist and leaned back in her seat. Her face was calm, her posture relaxed. Her eyes…much less stormy now. "That's good. That's good." She looked off to the side, having heard the sound of a running engine. Raynor was sitting astride a Vulture with a glass of foam-topped beer in hand, chatting it up with a gaggle of ladies. He looked very at peace with himself. All that was missing to complete the image was a cigarillo between his chompers. "Hey, Marshal," she called, which got his attention. "Nice bike."

"Yeah, she's a beaut, ain't she?" he agreed, patting the side of the vehicle. "Gazlowe helped me get 'er up and running. We just finished work last night. Just look at her, blondie. She's got herself a nice, fine coat. Really catching, wouldn't you say?"

So she did have a nice, fine coat, a deep dark red with bright orange flame decals streaking across the body. Nary a scratch or dent to see on it, too. Those two must've spent plenty of hours on it: they did a splendid job on the work, whatever it was that kept it in the Chop Shop. Nova nodded. "Very," she agreed. She rolled her neck around, warming the muscles underneath. "It'd be a shame if something happened to it."

Raynor laughed. "Oh don't worry your pretty little head there. I'm gonna have this baby under lock and key; she's not going anywhere on the battlefield. No, ma'am, not at all— _GUH!_ "

Not only did Nova have the eyes of a Ghost, Li-Ming was convinced that Nova literally _was_ a Ghost, for the person sitting at the table became a digital hologram that dispersed in a sparkling shower and the real Nova had just sucker punched Raynor off the Vulture and scattering his squawking fangirls aside like birds on a street. _"MOVE, DAMMIT, I'M ON A MISSION!"_ She mounted the bike, revved the engine, and sent the women even farther away by doing a U-turn. Li-Ming caught a glimpse of the flower in her hair, just below her goggles, before Nova floored it and rocketed out of the fairgrounds, blowing cutlery and napkins flying into the air.

Li-Ming went up to Raynor, who was struggling to push himself into a sitting position with one hand while the other was pressed to his face. "Are you alright, Marshal?"

He shook his head furiously. _"Fuggen blundie!"_ he swore, voice muffled. Raynor removed his hand and looked at the blood coating the palm. His nose didn't appear broken, but it was bruised and would certainly swell up in no time. A thin trickle slid over one corner of his mouth. He grimaced. "Yeah. Yeah…I'm fine. Goddammit!" He punched the ground. "I can deal with Sylvanas's crazy. I can even deal with Sergeant Hammer's crazy! But although as a man I much prefer Kerrigan's above all the others, that kind of crazy just ain't right! I'm-a gonna my bike back, miss! I ain't gonna let three days' worth of blood, sweat, and Kaja Cola go to waste on some girl who's projectin'!"

"Projecting, eh? Well, this whole matter's concerns no one but Nova alone." _I only said that stuff to get her going,_ she thought, and sighed. _I hope now I didn't start something that's beyond even_ MY _control._ "Here now," she said, holding out a hand for Raynor, to which he took to stand, "let's get you to the infirmary and have that patched up, yes? You can eat ice cream _and_ pet dogs, too, when we're done. How's that sound?"

* * *

And while Raynor was getting his nose patched and working a case of carpal tunnel into his other hand from petting the Greater Dog and the pack way too much, Nova sped across the green expanse of the hubworld, bent low over the dashboard, knuckles white and hair whipping behind her. She didn't have to check twice to see if the flower was still attached there; she could feel it slapping against her head.

What she should have been checking was the speedometer, vaguely aware that she could've easily passed Sylvanas and not even notice in her haste. That, however, was a minor inconvenience, so embroiled in her own thoughts.

 _I may be a Ghost, but that doesn't mean I haven't lost my humanity! People can say whatever they want about me; that's not going to stop me from goddamn caring about someone!_

… _Even if she does murder me, but better her than the Marshal._

 _Especially Kerrigan. No one else has the right to kill Sylvanas. Not Arthas, not Anub'arak, and most definitely not Greymane—just me! We base our friendship on snark and battlefield ambushes! That's just how it is here._

 _To be honest, it doesn't bother me if she sees me as a nuisance. My deaths don't even bother me anymore. It wouldn't surprise me if she tried to kill me the second I give her this gift, and I don't blame her: it's Valentine's Day, or whatever it's called in her sector. She's gotta be pissed. Most everyone is happy. One sister's dead, the other's holed up in some magical city in the sky with her own family, and what does Sylvanas have? Her people? That's not family; not in the immediate sense, but I suppose it could count. And since she's been without them for a good year, I can imagine how it would affect both parties._

 _But even with the treatment I get from her, at least I'm there for her! Not like you, Kerrigan, trying to make yourself Big Bitch on Campus just because there's another Queen on board! At least you have Raynor! Everyone_ I know _is…_

Nova squinted, and not from the lashing wind. She gritted her teeth and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw pain but not blood.

 _Well, they're gone. Ghosts of a past to be forgotten ages from now._

 _But not here. Not in the Nexus._

 _And…well, I always thought Sylvanas saw me as a sister of some sorts, not just in resemblance and demeanor but in the way I carry myself. Perhaps I remind her of Alleria._ Nova bit down harder. _Maybe…Maybe that's another reason why she kills me so much. Maybe I'm in the way. But that's just it: I don't_ want _to get out of the way! I don't want to impede! I…_

 _I don't want to make things worse than they already are for her!_

Ah, there was the blood. Sweet and copper, bringing about memories of mind wipes and the stench of cordite. Of the temporal unraveling of emotions suppressed upon stepping foot into the Nexus. _Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit! I'm a Ghost! A soldier and no other! I can't do this! I'm not supposed to feel any of this! I don't want to! It hurts! What am I even thinking—?!"_

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE DRIVING, MORON!"

Nova's thoughts derailed, and the blank space inside was instead filled with the sound of the Vulture's engine and…a dog barking?

Regaining focus, Nova found she was gunning straight for Sylvanas and the white dog at her heels. "Oh _SHIT!_ " She slammed on the brakes and banked hard to the left. This allowed her to avoid hitting them but also caused the Vulture to spin out beneath her and the inertia forcing her out of the seat and spilling onto the ground. It glided across the grass and bumped unceremoniously into a tree and remained there, idle. Nova picked herself up, stumbled, and was in the process of crashing face-first into gravity again.

Sylvanas grabbed her and almost also fell back with her but maintained her footing. Grunting, she held Nova away at arm's length. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Yes, what was she doing here? Nova stared at her, which only prompted Sylvanas's unamused stare to grow more annoyed and impatient. "Oh!" She remembered! "I, uh, I wanted to give you, um—" She patted herself down. Where the hell was it?

Doodle barked. Nova looked down and the pup looked back up, smiling. They engaged in a silent staring contest.

Nova started. "You got a puppy?!" she cried, and put her hands to her head. "Li-Ming didn't tell me that! _Goddammit!_ I need to step up my game!"

"She didn't give me the dog, you dolt!" said Sylvanas. "Doodle decided to follow me because he felt like it."

"…Doodle?" The dog barked again at the sound of his name.

"Yes, I know, small world."

"Who names their dog 'Doodle'?"

Sylvanas threw her hands up in the air. "Does it _look_ like I have the answer to that?"

"Uh-uh. Oh, here it is!" There it was! Nova yanked the flower out of her hair and held it out to Sylvanas. "Here. For you."

Now it was Sylvanas's turn to start. "Oh." She glanced at the flower, glanced at Nova who nodded and held the gift a little closer, then back at the flower. Then she took it into her hand.

"I hope you like it," said Nova. "I searched high and low for it."

"Nova, this is plastic."

"And so it is!"

"I've seen these at the thrift shops. They're either decorating for your living room or to doll up earthenware statues in your garden. These are, like, not even a gold piece."

"But cheap as they are, they're _much_ better than the real thing. These will never die, just like us!" Nova deflated slightly. "So…what do you think?"

Sylvanas inspected the flower, turning it this way and that. Her lips were pursed together tightly and one of her long, furry eyebrows was arched, which didn't do much for Nova in a way that indicated what the Banshee Queen was feeling. More importantly, her ears were down and sideways but not flat or against her skull, flickering inquisitively.

Nova quashed the urge to wring her hands. She fought off the cringe that creeped upon her when Sylvanas lowered the flower—violet, it was a stupid, washed out shade of violet, and Nova just realized it—to look at her. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable death to make its presence known. Maybe she would be stabbed. Maybe she would get her neck snapped. Maybe Sylvanas wouldn't have to do anything at all; there was power in those eyes, maybe they would do the work for her. Maybe she would—

"Thank you."

Even thank her.

Wait, what?

"Wait, what?" Nova parroted the thought aloud.

"I said, you have my thanks. It is…much more simplistic than I had anticipated…but, from you, it is to be expected. The color compliments my attire. Although," she looked down at herself, "this is not exactly something you could pin on." She sighed. "I suppose that leaves us with this." She reached up and peeled back the hood, revealing the brittle, bleached yellow hair underneath. "I'm hardly, if ever, seen going about like this, so if you happen to make the slightest peep about it to anyone—"

"You know, you're very pretty," said Nova.

Sylvanas stared at her, a mixture of both displeasure, at being interrupted, and knowing, of the plainly obvious. "Of course I'm pretty. I was the second prettiest elf in all of Quel'Thalas back in the day."

"Second? You?" Nova laughed. "Don't tell me the first prettiest was Kael'thas!"

"Heavens forbid! We have enough jokes about his appearance as it is!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking!"

"You had better be! My sisters have got him beat in looks!"

Nova smiled. "Yeah. I can see where you got it from. You still look good, though. That's one of the things Arthas can't take from you."

Sylvanas gave her a strange, indiscernible look. It seemed…almost curious. "Do I now?"

"Of course."

"…Huh." Sylvanas scratched the side of her cheek and, very briefly, looked away. The way she held herself in that span of time surprised Nova. Was that…Was the Banshee Queen being _shy_ toward her? And, oh dear God, was that a _blush_? Could the undead really blush? "Well," she resumed, turning back to her, "I suppose I still do. Well, don't just stand there. Come put this on."

Nova's face blazed scarlet. "M-Me?"

"Yes, you. You're the only other person here. I'm not going to debase myself and ask Doodle to do it. He doesn't have any thumbs."

"Dogs, uh, they have dewclaws…."

"Those don't count. Now stop dawdling like a schoolgirl and get over here. I want this on me while the day's still young and everyone else is off doing their own business."

"Plenty of time left for that," said Nova. She retrieved the flower and, as she was getting to stand on her tiptoes, Sylvanas bent down closer. Nova smiled and, mindful of the brittleness, inserted it in a place just above her left ear where it would not be pressed flat.

The smile broadened into a full-on smirk. _Now I don't know what_ YOU _got, Li-Ming, but this…THIS is a real gift. A cheap gift, a smart gift, a gift fit for a Queen. A gift that's everlasting! And what will yours give you in return? Nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing! I was here first, and if you want any sort of attention from her, you're gonna be waiting in line for a long, long, long…TIME!_

"What are you looking so smug about?" Sylvanas asked, straightening up. She touched the flower absentmindedly with her fingertips.

Nova grinned and shrugged. "Oh…just thinking how good today has been." Troubling thoughts notwithstanding, but today was still positively grand. There was no need to worry about the Program; they weren't _here_. She was free from them and, at the very back of her mind, although the feeling felt strange it was also…happy. It was a good kind of difference.

"Come on, Sylvanas," she said, squatting down. She clapped her hands at Doodle, caught the dog as it leaped into her arms, and stood. "Let's go find Arthas and use him as target practice."

"Why?" Sylvanas asked, surprised. The ear grazed the edges of the flower.

"Why not? You don't need a reason to do things with Arthas around. It's just you, me, and a guy who doesn't have access to Bolt of the Storm anymore. What do you say?"

For once, the smile Sylvanas gave her was not only genuine; it was shy, but it was glad.

* * *

" _It suits you," said Vereesa, leaning back to admire her work._

 _Sylvanas touched the flower pinned to her hair, then lowered her hand and stared at it as though she had touched something she wasn't sure she was supposed to. "Does it?"_

" _Yes. Look." Vereesa gestured to the pond in front of them._

 _So Sylvanas peered at her reflection, and the reflection stared dumbly back at her. The violet didn't quite match her outfit, all natural leather and blue cloth, but with the sunset at their backs it did provide a sort of stark contrast. Indeed, it was very pretty, but: "This_ is _real, right?"_

" _Sylvanas," Vereesa said, embracing her from behind, "if the deer in the south look real, sound real, and feel real, then everything is real. Including the flower."_

 _Sylvanas huffed, blushing. "It was just one time. How was I supposed to know it was real and not plastic?" She leaned back on her hands and lifted her head so that Vereesa could rest hers in the crook of her neck. "But…thank you. You didn't have to."_

" _But I wanted to, because you're my sister."_

" _A smart sister," Sylvanas added, smirking. "At least you went out of your way to check your stock, unlike a certain ranger."_

" _Alleria was in a hurry that day!"_

" _With what, stuffing her face?"_

" _Sylvanas!" Vereesa lightly nudged her forehead against her elder's._

 _Sylvanas laughed. "I'm joking, I'm joking!"_

" _I hope so! She's not that gluttonous! Unlike_ someone _I know!"_

 _She quirked an eyebrow. "Who, me? Far from it!"_

" _Then you better work on keeping that figure, or you'll never find someone to impress upon someday!" Vereesa smacked her stomach for emphasis. "Step up your game, Sylvanas; Alleria's way ahead of you!"_

 _Sylvanas slapped her hand away. "Stop that! I-I know what I'm doing! And the fan club doesn't count, either!"_

 _Vereesa chuckled. "Sure you do. Sure. You. Do."_

* * *

"Uh…Miss Ming?"

"Yes, Marshal?"

"I, uh, I don't know about you, but, um, I think we might have a problem."

Li-Ming followed his finger and looked up at the Lesser Dog. Or rather, at the hole in the ceiling where the Lesser Dog's head had punched through, then at the Lesser Dog himself. Or rather, at the way he was looking at her—upside-down with an upside-down smile, where its neck had reentered the atmosphere and cleared another hole to appear right next to her. He panted excitedly.

"That's not possible, right?" Raynor asked. "Tell me it ain't."

Li-Ming stared at the Lesser Dog some more. A pink tongue flew out and licked down her face. She held out a hand to pet him, stopped, hesitated, and pulled it back.

"Good question," she said. To the Lesser Dog, she added: "Hey, listen. You can go now. Raynor's feeling much better…aren't you, Raynor?" Raynor nodded a little too vigorously. "See? We appreciate your help. He'll be alright." It was just a busted nose—and carpal tunnel—after all.

"Woof woof!" barked the Lesser Dog, and as though his head had been sucked in through the hose of a vacuum cleaner, his neck retreated through the hole it came out of in a high-pitched whistling noise. Li-Ming and Raynor both looked up, watching as he disappeared into the clouds; a few seconds passed, and then there the faraway call of a train horn blaring. Then the Lesser Dog's head reappeared in a blur and asserted itself back onto its neck with a fleshy slap. He licked Li-Ming one last time, properly up on her cheek, and made his exit.

Not through the door but the wall, past the startled doctor, leaving behind a tall, dog-like outline. Raynor winced. Li-Ming merely stared, mouth agape.

All three stood in silence.

Then, timidly, Li-Ming asked: "…How much is, um, all this going to cost?" She indicated the room's destruction.

"A lot," said the doctor.

Li-Ming paled. She reached into the rune bag tied at her waist, pulled out the little handheld computer and, tapping a few keys, checked the balance on the savings and checking accounts. Her face whitened even more. She whirled around at Raynor, pleading silently.

Raynor sighed. "I'll cover it," he told the doctor, and felt instant sorrow. His poor, poor bike. He hoped Nova didn't wreck it; and if she did, well…there wasn't exactly a rule against looting someone's corpse on the battlefield.


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** Whodunit  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas takes part in a crime scene."  
 **Notes1** : Inspired by the Dehaka teasers and written in between periods after work and more or less after Dehaka was officially revealed.  
 **Notes2:** I'm liking the idea of sprinkling OCs here and there in upcoming chapters. Future appearances may or may not depend on reader feedback. You'll see the Undertale dogs in at least two other chapters, but other than that I'll just be winging it.  
 **Notes3:** I also feel that, amidst Nova and Li-Ming overtaking the majority of the content, that I've been neglecting the rest of the cast. I will see what I can do to include them in future chapters. (However, I won't deny liking the idea of a Nova/Sylvanas/Li-Ming OT3 for the other anthology...)  
 **Notes4:** This was also inspired by Lucario's...constant reminders about Brightwing. Please, stop asking about her. This anthology's about Sylvanas; you said so yourself that it's about her. This isn't your personal requesting ground, nor is it your grounds for asking questions that don't pertain to the story. I don't care too much about Brightwing. I don't even use her as my main healer (Malfurion is, if I had to choose) unless she's on the F2P rotation and I'm grinding her to level 10. It was okay the first few chapters, now it's just getting on my nerves. This will also be the last of my notes about this; I want them to be about _the chapters' developmental process_. I don't want to have to make these particular notes more personal than they already are (I feel they're detracting from the overall tone of the chapter.) Otherwise, if you keep asking about her, especially when she's not even present in the chapter, I'm just going to outright ignore them. (But since I'm nice enough and you asked: the antennae. There's your answer. So please, no more.)

* * *

"Now I'm going to ask this one more time," Detective Orsten asked the assembled group. "None of you claim any responsibility?"

"You know, instead of just asking, you could be collecting evidence and have forensics look into this," said Sylvanas, leaning back against the classic pillar holding up the greenhouse. She was rewarded with a heated, world-weary glare from the man, to which she shrugged back at him, nonplussed by the challenge present in those eyes. "I'm only speaking my opinion." And fact, but he prided himself on getting things done his way, so it was no wonder this case wasn't getting closed to solved. The Royal Apothecary Society would've run his ass and everyone working in the Nexus Investigation Bureau—the NIB—out of the Nexus itself and do their jobs properly.

Orsten shook his head and regarded the suspects again. "Well?"

"I claim no involvement," said Anub'arak, "but I must say the craftsmanship is quite lovely." He glanced admiringly at the hole in the middle of the garden. "I wish my holes came out just as clean as those."

"I have children to take care of," said Zagara. "All four point five million of them! I have no time for gallivanting!"

"Organism Abathur reiterates presence not within suspect parameters," said Abathur, tapping his many fingertips. "Preferred sanctuaries Hall of Storms and…Darkness. Darkness amicable for combining properties of roach and hydralisk—Hydroroach. Results…not so amicable."

"That's, uh, great," said Orsten, scratching the shadow on his cheeks. "And what about you? You don't dig…but nobody else here goes around leaving half-eaten bodies."

"Brightwing innocent!" the faerie dragon wailed. "Innocent! I was nowhere near Terror Garden or Cursed Hollow! Brightwing was making friends with Ming Lee!"

" _Li-Ming_ ," the wizard huffed, exasperated. "Not Ty Lee. Not Azula. Not Homura, Chikane, Kagura, or any of those Japanese names. _Li-Ming._ Get it right! And as a reminder: trying to eat my source isn't my idea of establishing interpersonal relations!"

"But the magic…it sparkles like emeralds! Like a dream! The Emerald Dream! But it is still not made of emeralds, and Brightwing's head still hurts so much."

"But you _do_ eat people," said Arthur Light. "I know, I still have your teeth marks from when you ripped my lungs out!" He jabbed a finger against the hairs on his chest.

"And Brightwing was hungry. Woodsman put up _very_ good fight." She flicked her long, bulbous tongue out, tasting the air.

"I was lost and didn't know where I was…and by the way, you attacked me first! You didn't leave me any choice!" He turned to Orsten. "This creature may be excused for digging potholes everywhere, but she should be charged for murder outside of official sanctioned fights!"

"You may as well charge everyone then," said Li-Ming. "You know how…erratic the tavern can be."

"I'm the worst offender," said Sylvanas. "I've murdered every Hero at least once." Li-Ming nodded in acquiescence. "Then again, it's not like the Hero League takes its rules seriously. Look at the Raven Lord and the Gravekeeper. One of our battlegrounds is a residential area full of ghosts. In a way, their lives matter."

"Oh don't even go there with that business," the wizard told her. "That's a whole can of worms I'd rather not see open!"

"Yes, indeed," the Banshee Queen murmured. "Anyway, I can safely say that Brightwing, regardless of her psychopathic tendencies, is not our culprit. She was with me at the recreation center, having been dragged against our wills by Azmodan to participate in a game of B-ball, in preparation for the Dorm Tournament. We had a basketball, but the demons decided Brightwing was a better alternative."

"I ripped an arm off!" Brightwing exclaimed happily, then a little sourly, "It tasted awful."

"You should've invited us," said Zagara. "I've been meaning to collect more of Azmodan's essence for Abathur to study."

"We don't have room to fit all your children in," said Li-Ming.

"The size doesn't matter. We can always make room for them."

"Us or them?"

"Let's put it this way: I'm very stringent with your Terran gold. However long I stay here and depending on how much I make, whether it's through gambling, unofficial brackets, and bets on your feeble horse tracks, it's going towards padding my children's college funds."

"In what, geographical and ecological destruction?" Sylvanas asked.

"No. Biochemistry! Stem cell research! Medical biology and molecular medicine! A chance to bring higher learning among the Swarm will surely not be squandered."

"Gonna be waiting a long time for that," Li-Ming grumbled.

"Or, you know, you could always apply for whatever passes for FAFSA here," added Arthus, scratching unconsciously at his chest. "Grants, loans, whatever works for you."

Abathur nodded. "Logical decisions."

Anub'arak tapped his raptorial forelegs together. "Now, Zagara, you should know…if you, kikiki, ever decide you need some help, kiki, I can always be of assist—"

"The better to look at my legs, more like!"

"N-No! Not at all, not at all! I mean, kiki, I always figured the children could use a father figure—"

"I need no male!"

"But—!"

"There's a saying among the Terrans: I am a strong, independent, wo—!"

"Alright, I think we're getting _way_ off topic with this nonsense!" Detective Orsten interrupted, stepping in between the zerg and the nerubian. Anub'arak stepped back, startled, while the Broodmother merely glowered at the man. "Can't we go at least one day without things getting this out of control?"

"No, not really." "Never." Li-Ming and Sylvanas said simultaneously. Arthur heaved a weary sigh, wondering again, against his better judgment, if he was still dreaming after a night of crashing and burning off Starbucks coffee or if what was happening now was indeed real.

"Anyway," said Orsten, "I suppose I'll get the boys and girls out here and cordon off the area. You all know matches will be postponed until further notice, correct? Good. Keep whatever grievances you have confined to your fight club; we don't want to have to go into debt again because either a few people got drunk off their high horse—literally—or wind up destroying the entire Hubland while sparring with those armored dogs, like _a certain someone_ did." He leveled a knowing stare at Li-Ming, who shrugged back nonapologetically. "The rest of you," he said to Zagara, Anub'arak, and Abathur, "can leave. As for you, Brightwing—"

"I'm telling you, I haven't eaten people today!"

"But you will eventually, and nobody else goes around randomly attacking others at their own whim! I'm going to have to write you up, Miss Faerie Dragon."

"That is so not fair! You are not very nice."

"That's low, even for you," said Sylvanas. "You should be looking more into this investigation to see whether or not Brightwing is innocent, not open and close a case shut because you're going more by gut reaction than circumstantial research and evidence."

"The folks back at the station aren't going to leave a case cold like this. It'll make everyone feel a little more at ease if we arrest someone."

"And you'd rather not take the word of a Queen as evidence?" asked Li-Ming.

Orsten shook his head, held up his hands defensively. "How do I know she's not lying? You know how politicians are! They talk the talk but they don't walk the walk! Why do you think we even have the Hero League in the first place, because the Powers That Be got bored one day and decided they wanted others to do their dirty work?"

"You're just now noticing?" Anub'arak asked.

"Primary objectives unchanged since transitions," Abathur noted.

"You need to pay more attention. You're a terrible detective!" said Zagara.

Orsten flushed with humiliation at the comment. "I'm just saying—!"

"I wonder how long you'd last in her realm," said Li-Ming. "You know, before she sends someone to take your head for a trophy."

"Not even a few hours," said Sylvanas. "Maybe a day, if I'm in a good enough mood. Otherwise, you, my friend, are worm food…or your head's used as a fleshy, meaty hacky-sack for the abominations. Or a volley ball; they have their spurts of coherence and imagination every now and then."

"Well I'm damn grateful I'm Nexus born and raised instead of on that Eldritch abomination-infested world you call Azeroth!" Orsten declared, puffing out his chest and drawing up to his full height—he almost but not quite met Sylvanas's eyes. "Or an eternally conflicted world of idiot angels and demons called Sanctuary!" He pointed at Li-Ming, who to his inner surprise nodded in agreement. " _Or_ …well, you're all over the place, last I checked!" He pointed at Zagara and Abathur. "This realm is my realm! I'm not the most authoritative figure all around, but here? Here _I_ make the rules! _I_ have the final say, and I say that—"

"Hush, you motormouth!" Sylvanas spat, and held up a hand to further silence his protests. Her ears twitched. "Do you hear that?"

"Eh? Hear what—"

"Listen!" she hissed, and everyone strained their hearing. "That sounds like…."

"Something's in the bushes!" Arthur exclaimed, and gestured. "Look!"

And as they did, through the foliage a dark shape rose and shook itself. A pair of eyes peered among the gloom and blinked owlishly at them. It began to rumble, low and deep in the throat.

"By the Powers!" cried Orsten. "What is that?!"

"Don't just stand there! Move!" Sylvanas shoved him aside, drew out her bow, knocked a black arrow and let it fly at the bushes. Li-Ming launched an array of magic missiles and Anub'arak unleashed a straight line of earthen spikes; and Orsten, regaining his wit, pulled the gun from his belt and opened. The eyes widened and then disappeared as the shape of the creature quickly fell back. It roared in pain as the attacks struck. The sound of its loud, ponderous footsteps soon faded into the distance.

"Stop, dammit! You're under arrest!" Detective Orsten rushed into the bushes, pushing aside branches and kicking away those that had been broken in its hasty retreat. The others gathered behind him in a clustered semicircle, staring down at the minion lying bloody and dead in a patch of beaten, ripped grass; some of it appeared dried and brittle like straw.

Li-Ming balked at it. "Well, at least we know it's not Brightwing now."

"I'm innocent! Hurray!"

"It doesn't look fresh, though," Sylvanas said, getting down on her knees beside the body. She touched her hand to its skin and prodded here and there a few times and tried to move its limbs, to which they were very hard to move and creaked under her ministrations. "This person died a while back. He must not have been transitioned long enough to respawn."

"There's a hole over here," Anub'arak called out, waving a feeler to Orsten. On shaky legs the man stumbled over and peered down into it. There seemed to be a tunnel of sorts leading away from the Garden of Terror. He rumbled approvingly. "Beautiful, wouldn't you say, Zagara?"

Zagara joined Orsten at his side and studied it. A moment later she sneered, clicking disdainfully. "It's not much of a tunnel to begin with! See how the hole is formed, the way the edges sprout up in asymmetrical patterns. Normally it's a lot cleaner, more…precise." She turned away. "He'll come back. He prefers to have his meals alone and unperturbed."

"'He'?" asked Orsten.

"I recognize these shapes, Detective, and I've seen plenty of them pocketing the surface of Zerus. You are dealing with a primal Zerg, specifically," she sighed, exasperated, "Dehaka."

"Oh, gesundheit," said Arthur.

"That's his name, pinkskin!" Zagara snapped at him. She chattered irritably, clicked her mandibles. "Pah! This had better not mean what I think it means."

"Meaning…?" Orsten pressed.

"He could be a new Hero," Anub'arak concluded. "Could it be possible?"

"I should hope not! The Swarm has already established its foothold upon the Nexus. We don't need outsiders!"

"Understatement, Broodmother," Abathur corrected her. "Thieves they are. Designs unoriginal, bootlegged. Swarm's power ours, no others. If indeed Hero, not transitioned, Organism Dehaka must be wiped clean. No traces left behind."

"That's savage, man," said Li-Ming. "Coldblooded."

"Not coldblooded. Necessary."

"Well, aren't you glad, Brightwing?" Sylvanas asked the faerie dragon in a sardonic tone. "Take the word of a Broodmother but not the word of the one and only Banshee Queen. Must be nice solidifying your innocence based on public opinion, yes? Oh, but what would _I_ know? I'm not a cog in the justice system's machine that's been crumbling upon itself for the last few _millennia_." She flashed her fangs at Orsten, who colored more or less out of shame than aggravation.

"I do have a heart! A healthy, happy heart full of redness!" said Brightwing, and she lifted herself higher on her wings and spun in a circle.

"And essence," Abathur added. "Have not forgotten agenda. Will extract…sooner rather than later."

"So you do," said Li-Ming, and went to stroke the top of her head affectionately.

"Uh huh," Sylvanas agreed dully.

"At least you _have_ a beating heart, chichichi," Anub'arak murmured under his breath, sounding bitter and sad. "But if it makes you happy, then I suppose I should be, as well."

"Yeah, great. Wonderful," Arthur grumbled. "Can we add 'psychotic' to that list?"

"I really do! Here, I'll show you!" She dug into a pouch attached to the belt around her abdomen and in her tiny paws withdrew an object the color of dried mud and many spindled valves spilling over the tips of her claws. It glistened wetly in the sun.

"OH MY GOD!" "WHAT THE HELL!" Orsten and Arthur yelled, recoiling in disgust and horror.

"SPIDER!" Li-Ming cried. She snatched Sylvanas by the shoulders and yanked her hard toward her, latching onto her like a parasite. _"Getitaway getitaway GETITAWAYFROMMEEEEEEE!"_

"G-Guh! God. DAMMIT! Let go of me!" Sylvanas gasped, feebly trying to push her off with Li-Ming's arms squeezed tight around her neck. The wizard buried her face in the crook of it and slammed her eyes shut, stemming a tide of tears amidst gibbering and wailing in the Banshee Queen's ears.

"That…That doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before," Anub'arak said, a little worryingly, and leaned closer. "Who or what did you kill?"

"Darkness is very bad! Bad guys taste like ink!"

"Nip it in the Terran bud, I say!" said Zagara. "Abathur, perhaps we can use this heart to extract what little essence there might be left inside it."

Abathur observed the still heart, hummed thoughtfully. "Unlikely. Time immeasurable has passed. Must make do with Organism Azmodan for now."

"Is that so? What a pity."

"KILL IT WITH FIRE!" Li-Ming continued, embracing Sylvanas even harder. "FIRE, ICE, LIGHTNING, TEMPORAL DISINTEGRATION! IT DOESN'T MATTER! _JUST DO IT!_ "

"I'll," Sylvanas gasped again, "I'll…kill…you…with…FIRE!" She tried in vain to grab her shadow dagger but failed to reach it. She was teetering, balancing on the balls of her feet and ready to fall to the ground at any moment. _"Faaaaaaaahhhhhhh…!"_

"Brightwing did good thing today!" said the faerie dragon, smiling and hugging the object close to her. It left a muddy, blotchy imprint on her cheek. "Yes, I did!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Title:** Theory in Action  
 **Description:** Sylvanas tests a new technique out on the field.  
 **Notes1:** Inspired by the introduction of Sylvanas's new heroic in the Dehaka patch. Originally Xul was going to be mentioned for doing Possession better than she could (and, jokes about the old heroic aside, I rarely used it during matches where I'd build for split pushing and nine out of ten times the plan goes awry), but events from the Valentine's Day chapters won out in the end.

* * *

"Target acquired," said Nova. Even though she was cloaked and hiding in the bushes, her voice came out in a tinny filter through the speakers on the handheld in Sylvanas's bag. The rifle's barrel was aimed at the Crown Prince's approaching figure, who had noticed the Banshee Queen standing out in the open, a little ways from the sleeping temple. "Just say the word and I'll give him something to dance the tango to. I call it the Orbital Special."

There was a noticeable limp in his gait, and blood leaked from a number of wounds on his face. Still, his grip on Frostmourne was strong, sure, and surely tighter at the sight of a not-so fresh soul, but the state of freshness didn't matter for a blade made for demigods. Sylvanas shook her head. "No need. I want only for you to stay back and watch."

"What'd you have in mind?"

Sylvanas suppressed the smile. "Just watch," she said again, and replaced the bow on its sling. She took a couple steps forward and stopped, and so did Arthas.

Arthas brightened, grinning boyishly. "Good morning, Banshee Queen! Pleasant weather we're having, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," Sylvanas drawled. "It's always sunny in Luxoria." Nine out of ten times the sun ever present, like a lidless eye that never closed. Rain clouds may as well not exist in this realm. "I can see you're in a chipper mood."

Arthas shrugged. "Indeed! But I can't say the same for Frostmourne. It's been feeling restless for the past few days. I think it's hungry. Again." He sighed wearily. "Well, it's only a trifling matter. I'm sure there's somebody around here who can help me."

"I'm not interested."

"I know you're not. Such a shame, too; you seem like the sort who would know anyone and everyone. Anyway, I've been doing some people watching during my downtime. They seem to have a penchant for swimming in the aqueducts when they're not husking their wares or trying to avoid getting stomped on, incinerated, vaporized, electrocuted, julienned, and riddled full of bullet holes in the midst of all the fighting. I think they should be more careful; I've noticed lately that they seem to drown when the currents are strongest."

And they would, Sylvanas thought, when the temples were activated and Ka wanted the Heroes to piss off and take their 'petty war games' elsewhere.

"They really ought to be careful. It's not a goodly way to go. I wouldn't want to go out that way, if I have any say in the matter!"

"Good for you. Can we get back to killing each other senselessly?" Somewhere in the background, Sonya yodeled, and then the earth beneath their feet shook. She thought she heard a squawk of surprise and agony, but whether it came from Falstad or Sharpbeak she couldn't quite tell nor could she really bring herself to care. Either way, one of them was going to be made into chicken wings.

Arthas arched an eyebrow. "Senseless? There's nothing senseless about killing, at least where Frostmourne's concerned. A soul's a soul—big or small, young or old, it must be satiated! You know that!"

"Then get on with it already. You're wasting my time." She spread her arms wide before her. "So…what are you waiting for? I'm right here. Come at me." She dared not tack on that tastelessly stupid 'bro' at the end.

Arthas scanned her up and down, grimaced, and sniffed disdainfully. "You're already dead. Why even bother?"

"Oh, so I guess you don't want to get your sorry ass beat by a dead person." Sylvanas nodded knowingly. "That's fine. That's fine. You're not much of a Prince—nay, a _King_ —if you can't kill a dead person. And believe me, when you do kill a dead person, they empower Frostmourne even more. Twice as much as a living soul, I'll set my watch and warrant on it." Or however the noblesse or snobbish bookworm says it in their dialect. "But I can understand if you are, you know, too afraid to test that theory—"

"This is me being afraid, bitch!" Arthas yelled, voice cracking on a high note. His grip tight on Frostmourne, he made to raise it.

Perfect timing.

The color in her eyes pulsed once at the same time she raised both hands in front of her, not to ward off the attack. Instead, they were held as though she was holding an invisible sword of her own.

Arthas froze in midstep, and the color of his bombardier blue orbs rippled and shifted into the same shade of red as hers. Frostmourne trembled in his gauntlet as her dark tendrils descended upon him and took root in his membrane, and once she assembled control his nerves settled; he placed his foot on the ground and widened his stance at shoulder width, and his back straightened. Sweat peppered his forehead and dripped down his neck into the depths of armor battered and torn from fighting.

Especially the midriff; the belt, which was large and bore the face of the Lordaeronian lion, was missing, leaving him only in the chainmail pants that would have otherwise been covered. His breastplate, however, still remained intact.

It would have to do, and she would have to move. Fast, while the compulsion was upon him.

So she had Arthas follow her movements, exactly as she made them. They reversed the grip on their blades, lifted it before them and above their heads with the points pointed toward at their bellies. Once again, Frostmourne shook, much harder now, a sign that the spell was rapidly decaying. Arthas's changed from red to blue and back again, but the anxious, dawning horror on his face became paler and claylike in its clarity. The way his skin shined so bright made him appear more mannequin than human. She had a split second to savor the moment and place it in a pretty frame.

Then Arthas drove Frostmourne home and sliced left to right. Blood and guts spilled and splattered onto the ground. He brought the point up to where his heart was and, with eyes rolling behind their sockets, fell upon it as gravity claimed him. The sword howled in ecstasy.

Sylvanas relinquished her hold as soon as his body hit the ground. She shook her head to clear the fog in both her mind and her vision. When she was able to reassert herself, she walked up to the Crown Prince, arms akimbo. "'Already dead', huh? Joke's on you." She kicked him in the ribs for good measure; it wasn't necessary, but this was Arthas—hitting him, alive or dead, always made her feel better.

She sensed Nova coming up from behind her, deactivating the cloak to make her presence known. Her rifle was lowered—a rookie mistake to be making in the middle of the battlefield, Sylvanas noted, but she didn't correct her. "Holy crap!" she exclaimed. She leaned over her shoulder for a closer look, then leaned back and looked at Sylvanas. "What was that?"

"Mind control," said the Banshee Queen, turning away from the disintegrating corpse. "However, this is the first time I've used it on a person. The majority of my practice has been spent on the local wildlife, given that their brains are smaller and thus can be more easily overridden than that of a man's. I suppose the same might be said for non-humanoid creatures, like angels and demons, or the protoss and Zerg; I don't know, I've yet to try it."

"That seemed pretty taxing on you, and this version's not even a death knight." As if to prove he was truly dead, Nova poked Arthas's remains—his head— with the tip of the rifle's barrel. It came apart in a pile of ash and was swept away on a breeze, into Luxoria's blue beyond.

"I will perfect it over time. It will also depend on how much stronger a person's will is when the spell is cast. There won't be time enough for me to move any further from my position, so I will have to be wise as to where and when I will begin casting. You needn't let me explain twice what your job— _our team's_ job—is to be while that is done."

Nova smiled wide and laughed. "Now when have I ever failed to protect you?"

Sylvanas stared at her through lowered lashes, but the ominous glow from her eyes was prevalent. "…Do you really need me to expound the details on that?"

The laughter died and the grin wilted. Nova hugged the rifle to her bosom. "Aha…ha…eh. P-Point taken. Yeah…Yeah, I know what to do. Count on it."

"I would expect no less. And remember, you _focus_ on the environment _around_ me, not…" Sylvanas sighed. "You know, right on me. Or the other Sylvanas, for that matter. She—I mean, uh, we—we're sensitive."

"Sensitive?" Nova parroted, and then: "I'm not sure what you're trying to convey, but it's not like that. Really!"

"Oh bologna, you know what it is I'm talking about! You're a living Ghost. Don't become an actual one because your focus is on something other than your target. You didn't get that far in the Program because of that, and, if I had my way, you wouldn't get very far with that kind of thinking under my command." She jabbed the point of her index finger against the bulbous tip of Nova's nose, causing her to go cross-eyed.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Just pay attention and maybe you won't die nearly half as much as you think you do. Don't start giving me ideas." Sylvanas retrieved the bow from its sling, knocked an arrow to the string, and took a running leap over the open gap onto the neutral watch tower. The light panels beneath her feet, which consisted of three runic blades forming the symbol of the Nexus, flashed blue, signaling the team's claimant. Then Sylvanas cleared the other side and vanished into the bushes ringing the central Snake temple.

"B-But that's the best part!" Nova called after her. "Wait for me!" She activated the cloak, fumbled with the rifle and snatched it out of the air before it hit the ground, and went around the watch tower in the same direction, not trusting herself to take the shortcut without pointlessly dying. It wouldn't be the same, after all, if most of her deaths didn't at least involve the Banshee Queen to some degree.


	19. Chapter 19

**Title:** Meta Phoenix  
 **Notes1:** In which I do that thing in which I inject a part of me into Nova and a part of the nameless Guest into Kerrigan. However, I find history interesting, but when there is a good yarn I just believe it to be difficult to put it down when there is something more important to be done.  
 **Notes2:** This first part was written in response to a review made by a Guest reviewer that's not Lucario made for Chapter 12. Some parts also had to be rewritten because, silly me, Ghosts can't block each other out mentally, and I was quite close to scrapping it altogether. Still, I did my research and, hopefully this time, I got things right.  
 **Notes3:** The latter parts are influenced by my current interest in revitalizing some of my other fanfics, as well as me reading "Shadow Star Narutaru" among a number of other books borrowed from the local library.  
 **Notes4:** The original ending would have had Sylvanas explaining to Jaina how, in her sector (and in regards to them reading the ending of "Narutaru"), post-MOP!Jaina was going to flood Ogrimmar, to which HotS!Jaina would adamantly state her case that she would never end up that way. I always equated HotS!Jaina to be the so-called "Disney Princess" of the game, whereas post-MOP!Jaina just makes me want to slap the ever loving shit out of the backside of her head because, well, fighting demons is a lot more important than swearing vengeance on the Horde.  
 **Notes5:** On a final aside, the ending to "Puella Magi Madoka Magica the Movie: Rebellion" still pisses me off to this day.

* * *

"Here, Nova, I got you a present," Kerrigan said abruptly, stopping in front of the table Nova was seated at. Behind her, Sylvanas was attempting to make conversation with the robot librarian, pointing at a book that was high up on the shelves where she couldn't reach and, if the past few minutes were any indication, failing to keep her temper in check. Now, upon this newest arrival, she gave pause and turned her head to watch.

Nova looked up from the manga she was reading, leveling the Queen Bitch a suspicious glare. "A 'present', you say? Like the miniature nuke that just so happened to have replaced my alarm clock, right?"

"Look, I told you already, I had nothing to do with it. Go blame Hammer for telling the deliveryman to put it 'anywhere he feels like it' because the whole place was a mess from all the spring cleaning."

"Yeah, sure. That's one way to _set things back a few months._ And let's not forget the nerf gun rigged behind the bathroom door."

Kerrigan smirked. "Heh. That was pretty funny."

"I had a bruise literally shaped like a bull's-eye for a good two weeks! And let me guess: you didn't put it there."

The smirk widened into a grin. "Nope."

"Liar."

"Maybe _si_ , maybe no. It doesn't matter now. This, however, does." She tapped whatever she was holding behind her back against her folded wings.

Nova placed the bookmark on the page she was on (the fact she was not quite close to the ending had her thinking things were going along way too easily), closed the book, set it aside, and clasped her hands together on top of the table. "Is it going to blow up in my face?"

"No," said Kerrigan.

"Is it going to knock me off my feet onto my ass—?"

"No, Nova."

"To the point where I'll be rendered unconscious from sunrise to sundown? Because back pain on top of a headache on top of internal bleeding is not my idea of _fun_."

"No, Nova, none of that's going to happen…in the immediate, physical context. Mentally? Well, given the rumors I've heard about your transition, I suppose so. Here. Happy early birthday or whatever." Kerrigan removed the present from its hiding spot and handed it to her.

Nova accepted it and, upon seeing the cover, immediately balked at the title. "'A Child's Guide to the History of the Terran Dominion and the Before Time'?" She shot the Queen of Blades a disbelieving look. "Why do I need this? I've done my research!"

Kerrigan scoffed. "Yeah, well, apparently you either didn't do enough in school or the transition really did warp your mind. I heard you talking to Sylvanas that one day in the dance studio. Something about twerking and the etymological, cultural differences between how cultures perceive American football and association football. That latter term means _soccer_ , Nova. Don't tell me you've never heard that term before."

"Uh…no, I haven't? What does that have to do with this?" Nova rapped the book with the back of her knuckles. "I'm well past childhood!"

"I wonder about that," Kerrigan murmured under her breath.

"What was that?"

"I said if you're going to be making small talk and telling your stories, you should at least take the time out to get your information correct instead of just winging it by memory! It's not going to do your audience any favors if you give them the wrong idea. Do you want them to be pointing out your mistakes more and more after the first time? They'll get fed up and leave if you don't bother to fix them!"

Nova narrowed her eyes. "Are we talking social interaction or writing? Because this sounds more like advice you give to someone who's aspiring to be a writer."

"Either way."

"But I'm not writing to Sylvanas—"

"Well, it's kind of like that—talking and writing. One's done verbally, one's done mechanically. You just wish you could write to her like you do when you talk to her."

"I know what I'm doing! You think this is going to hold my attention? Look at how short it is!" Nova held out the book and quickly thumbed through the pages, making a sound like fluttering bird wings. "And where's the art? It can't be a children's book if there's no art! How's it's supposed to keep me entertained?"

"Nova, it's two hundred pages. You can fly through it in about…a few days, if you want to let it all sink in."

"It's not a children's book if it doesn't have art to break up the walls of text!"

Kerrigan sighed wearily. "Does it matter?"

"In my honest opinion, yes!"

"Nova, if you want her to leave you alone, you should read it," Sylvanas said, coming over to clap a hard hand on her shoulder; the motion made her jump. "If not for your sake or hers, then it would be within your best interest to do it for me."

"But history's boring! It doesn't bear any relevance to my life unless I suddenly decide I want to become a teacher—and I don't, I have no intentions. I'm loyal to the Dominon, but I'm not that loyal!"

"More like you're not that bored," said Kerrigan, shaking her head.

"And what could be more exciting than Dominion history, hmm?" Sylvanas leaned over her shoulder and studied the cover of the manga Nova had been reading. "Let me see… _Puella Magi Madoka Magica the Movie: Rebellion_ …oh, it's one of those stories that deconstructs a tried and true genre."

"It's not the first of its kind," said Nova. "There are _Neon Genesis Evangelion_ , _Revolutionary Girl Utena_ , _Berserk_ …."

"Your Japanese people come up with the strangest title. What does 'puella' even mean?"

"If it makes it even for easier, you can always just refer it as 'mahou shoujo'. I don't think anyone wants to argue the proper etymological usage of titles anymore than when they did when it aired."

"I see. Ah, you're on the last volume," Sylvanas noted, adjusting the book to see the number on the spine. "I finished it last week. Listen to me closely: if you want to maintain the good feels, you won't finish it."

"Are you going to kill me if I do?"

"I might." Sylvanas tightened her grip, digging her nails in deep.

Nova made a face that was half-pout and half-wince. "So mean!"

"Hey, Nova, I'll make you a deal," said Kerrigan, placing a hand on her hip. "I've read this manga, too, and what Sylvanas says is the truth. If you can finish that book I gave you by the end of the week, I won't spoil the ending of _Rebellion_ for you."

"Oh, please!" Nova snorted. "You don't call yourself the Queen Bitch for nothing! For all I know, you'll spoil it as soon as I crack this bad boy open!"

"No no, I mean it. Take a peek in my mind." Kerrigan tapped the sides of her head with both index fingers, grinning. "Come on. Open those doors to that brain of yours a little more and left the power flow through you. I know you're holding back. Don't you want to learn how the gears churn in there?"

"I've read plenty of erotica to know what you want to do with Raynor. That's nothing new."

The grin remained, but now a warning cloud had fallen upon it. "I can teach you the tricks of the trade, Nova. How to be a better Ghost. How to be better than _me_. There is so much stuff in here that I might just forget to restrain myself and _give you_ the ending."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I _would_."

"You won't have to," said Sylvanas, and, reaching around, unsheathed the dagger and pressed it lightly against Nova's neck. The Ghost started at its glacial touch. "Nova! You're going to read the book and you're going to like it, or Darkness help me I'll make you into a jack o' lantern fit for the Headless Horseman!"

Nova swallowed hard. She could feel her tiny Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the motion, graze against the curved tip of the edge that was, she hoped, more sharp than blunt. "Y-You know I'll just come back, right?"

"You know I'll do it again when you do and if you don't do as I say, _right?_ " Sylvanas countered bitingly, applying slight pressure against her throat. Nova's lips drew back against her gums, eyes wide and drawn down to the blade. "You Ghosts can read minds; look into mine and see that I'm not giving you the bull." Her own gaze flicked up toward Kerrigan.

The Queen of Blades blanched. "She…She can read mine, too, you know! Sure, she's second-rate, but I can drop the defenses and give her a peek inside—and _only_ a peek!"

"You're lying," said Sylvanas. "If you were really thinking about the ending, Nova here would've found out by. And you can't block each other out, can you? I'll wager it's almost next to impossible. So by that logic—"

"All of that erotica's fake, anyway!" Kerrigan exclaimed abruptly, blushing a vibrant purple. "Passing fancies for lonely hearts not even Sergeant Pepper can recruit!"

Sylvanas arched a brow. "Is it now?" She snorted. "Some Queen you are. You _never_ let alone know what you're thinking. Always stay two steps ahead of your opponent…especially if they're, well, _special._ " She tapped the dagger once.

Nova shivered. "I, ahem, figured that much. I'll…I'll read, okay? Just, uh, give me a notice when you're going to kill me, please? It's no fun if you do it to _me_ and not the decoy. A good Queen would give her victim a bit of a head start so she can have a much more engaging hunt. At least that's how the Brits did to foxes way back when."

"Yes, well, guess what, I am not nor ever will be a Brit…and Kerrigan over there can be whatever interspecies flavor of the month she chooses to be." Kerrigan responded with a roll of her eyes. "Now, Nova," _tap-tap-tap_ , "read this book in my name and I will guarantee you I will not spoil you. If you value your blissful ignorance, you will thank me for it later."

Nova's eyes had never left the shadow dagger, but at those words they peered up, up, way up, at what little of Sylvanas she could see. "Wow. Really? That's, uh, that's awfully sincere of you."

"Don't press your luck."

"Right. Of course. So, uh, if you don't mind…?" She lifted a hand and poked the back of Sylvanas's knuckles. "I need to look down to read. You dig?"

Sylvanas harrumphed, but she relented and removed the dagger, replacing it in its sheath. When she turned, she saw the robot attendant standing behind her. "Here is the book which you requested, madam, following specific, preferential guidelines," it said in a masculine, baritone voice. It held out a thin book in its grasp, as though it were presenting a plate of delicious appetizers. Sylvanas accepted it and frowned at the cover, which had some purple-haired Japanese girl riding high above a town on a yellow-bodied, orange-faced star-creature with big cartoon eyes.

She held it out back to the attendant. "Are your logic circuits even functioning properly? I asked for something apocalyptic. This, right here, is the opposite of apocalyptic."

"It is what you asked for, my Lady," the robot told her. "Three times, according to the timestamps."

"Yeah, that's great."

"Indubitably. Would you like for me to check it out or at one of our computers—"

"I'm being sarcastic!" Sylvanas snapped, smacking upside its crown with back of the book. She glowered at the cover. "This is something Li Li might read. Maybe even Jaina! But I, the Banshee Queen of the Undercity? No! Never! I can never read a book that's so bright and colorful and…and" she glanced at the cover again and sneered "so happy!"

"What have you got there?" Kerrigan asked. Nova said nothing, her nose buried in the history book.

"First volume to some manga called 'Shadow Star Narutaru'." Sylvanas passed the book off to the woman and folded her arms across her chest. "I heard the serfs saying it was bloody and violent with a very dark ending."

Kerrigan hummed to herself as she flipped through a few pages. "No. Sure doesn't look that way. Not this early, I guess. Who knows, maybe it will. If you're asking for apocalyptic fiction and that guy over there keeps giving you this manga, then surely it must be. Give it a shot." She handed it back to Sylvanas, who turned her nose up at it.

"Ugh...Why do I feel like as though I'm being played?" She sighed again. "I suppose I will give it a chance. There really is nothing here today that has caught my interest. You there! Robot! Show me where the rest of the volumes that belong to this series is, then direct me to your computers so I might check them out personally."

"Certainly, madam," the attendant said, inclining its head to the side and spinning its lobster-like hands. "Thank you for visiting the Grand Nexus Library, where we carry over a hundred thousand books from a hundred thousand realms and sectors throughout the quantum timestream. We hope you enjoyed your stay."

"We'll see about that once I get through with them," Sylvanas grumbled, and went with the robot to their destination.

When they were gone and out of earshot, Kerrigan smirked and regarded Nova, whose skin was pale and sweaty under the fluorescents. "'She has no idea', huh? Clever girl. You actually put your skills outside the field to use for once."

"She snapped my neck a while back because I saw her spouting random stuff into a fan and told her it was okay to have fun now and then," said Nova, not looking up from the text. "I don't want to look forward to waking up at the Hall again with my voice gone indefinitely until the next death."

 _That's not all you had to say,_ Kerrigan thought, leveling a knowing stare at Nova. The younger girl caught the strain of thought, blushed, puffed her cheeks out, and jammed her nose deeper between the pages.

* * *

 _Sometime later, in the dormitory…._

"Hello, Sylvanas," said Jaina, walking into the room. "Fancy meeting you here, of all places!" She had been running errands and helping the good folk of the Nexus tend to the Gardens, and so for the time being wanted nothing more than to dress into something more comfortable and relax. She had just pulled the hood off her head when she noticed the book Sylvanas had in her hands. "What are you reading?"

Sylvanas grimaced, closed the book, and held it up for Jaina to see. She wasn't even sure what she was doing anymore.

The reaction was immediate: Jaina busted out laughing at the sight of the cover. "Oh, that's so cute!" she squealed. "I didn't know you were into young adult fantasy fiction!"

"…I'm not," Sylvanas intoned in a deadpan. "I was bored and looking for something to read, so I asked around. The younger folk suggested this to me." Because they had said it contained horror, blood and guts and plenty of death, but other than a floating monstrosity at the beginning of the story, there was nothing remotely terrifying or life-threatening going on.

"What's it about?" Jaina asked. She plopped herself down next to the Banshee Queen and scanned the art of the double-spread pages. That same girl who was on the cover was riding the same star, only now in grayscale and instead of a town they were flying high above the island they were supposedly on.

"That girl there," Sylvanas said, pointing at her, "she goes to this island to visit some friends and she finds that star-thing or whatever it is while out for a swim. So now she's being a bad little girl and going around acting cool in the middle of the night because she found out she can fly with it." Or whatever. If she was her kid, she'd be tied to a stake like the rest of the hawkstriders at Thuron's Livery outside Silvermoon City until she conveniently forgot the mechanisms of flight and behaved how a normal, non-mage human being should. She relished at the thought of deciding not to have children. "I don't know what's going to happen next."

"Let me read with you. It looks to be a very interesting story. That is, if you don't mind."

Sylvanas rolled her shoulders. "I have nothing better to do. Do what you feel is best."

* * *

 _A week later…._

"Well," said Sylvanas, staring with Jaina in stunned silence at the last page of the final volume, "that's…one way to bring about the end of the world. It's…well, it's creative, but it's also…what's the word…anti-climatic?" She looked at Jaina; the poor girl wore the most despairing, horrified expression she had ever seen on her. It was probably what she looked when Theramore got bombed…or lost her virginity to Arthas. "Are…Are you alright?"

Jaina didn't answer. Sylvanas sighed and leaned back against the boxboard.

Neither said anything for a time. Then:

"Holy crap!" Jaina exclaimed. "What kind of an ending was that?! Who…Who in their right mind would write a story like this?!"

Sylvanas checked the author's name. "Kitou Mohirou. That's surname first, given name last."

"By the Light! I…I think people could be so cruel! Especially to…to…."

"To children," Sylvanas finished for her.

"By the Light." Jaina shook her head in disbelief. She stared at the carpeting between her fingers, whose nails were scratching lightly upon it. "I…um…I think I'll go to the stables and, uh, play with those quilen puppies." She pushed up off the floor, grabbed her staff propped against one of the bunk beds, and went for the door, almost as if in a rush to get out.

"Not going to look up pictures of cats on the Internet like everyone else does?" Sylvanas asked her.

"I'm going for the the real thing!" Jaina called behind her as she fled through the door and into the hallway. The door closed shut with a soft slam.


	20. Chapter 20

**Title:** Karma  
 **Description:** "Just because Chromie is a time-seeing dragon doesn't mean she always gets second chances."  
 **Notes1:** The only reason I wrote this chapter was because a certain somebody assumed in his review that I put this story on hold for him because I was waiting for him to comment on it. Uh...no. You're dead wrong. Let me tell you guys and gals one thing: I didn't put this on hold for you. I didn't put this on hold for him, either. It was put on hold because I have this thing called A JOB, and at this job, for this week and next, half those days I'm going to be putting in a total of thirty-six hours. I should and DO NOT want to have to resort to posting my schedule on my profile just so that certain somebody or unspoken parties wonder where the hell I've been to. Another reason this was put on hold was because I was working on OTHER STORIES. FOUR OF THEM, if anybody's keeping count. There are also other, longer stories that I plan to get back to in the near future. But, yeah, I'm a busy person. I don't put shit on hold just so you can walk in here and say "Oh, are you doing this for me?" No. I'm not. And you're pretty damn arrogant if you think that's the case.  
 **Notes2:** And that other chapter I've mentioned in specific reviews? Congratulations, you guys are going to wait for it - and future installments - until I find the time during my schedule to get it finished and uploaded. I write when I want. I'm not your bitch. Are we clear on that? I had better hope we are, or we're going to have problems.  
 **Notes3:** If this offends anyone in the slightest...I'm kind of sorry, but I need to get this point across, and if I have to be a bitch about it to make it crystal clear then you can bet I will. I have a life, too, you know. I don't always write. I have other hobbies than just this.

* * *

"TAKE HEED, MORTALS! I SHALL ARRIVE SOON, WITH THE DEMON LORD CLOSE BEHIND."

"Darkness, he just fell not even two minutes ago, and he's already back?" Sylvanas complained, shielding her eyes against the sunlight crowning the peak of the sky. It sat at its apex, between the radiant blue of the High Heavens and the apocalyptic, crimson nightmare of the Burning Hells. "It's not like they do much damage to each other, anyway. They can take the time to recuperate."

"Time means nothing to an immortal," said Chromie, limping up behind her. She was missing an arm from having it hacked off by the Butcher, pulled a hamstring doing some impossible acrobatic trying to avoid Li-Ming's magic missiles, and one of her hair buns had been lopped by Sonya's blades, but she was still smiling, either uncaring of the pain going through her conjured form or, perhaps because it came from being a dragon, not feeling it at all as a mortal would. "Just imagine that somewhere, out in the Realm of Shadows, it's taking them hundreds of thousands of years to reform their basic constitution in a matter of real-world seconds. Only to, you know, getting slaughtered by five people from across the cosmos. The League's gotta reward us little folk with something for our troubles. It'd be a bloodbath if they weren't handicapped."

"Handicapped my ass! If they're really who they say they are, they wouldn't need our help trying to wipe the other out. They're probably just as bored, if not more so, than the rest of the Powers." Sylvanas lowered her hand and took up her bow, waving for Chromie. "Let's go. If we're fast, we can get the drop on Beleth before the rest of his team convenes on us." Twin shadows were descending onto the battlefield, winged and beautiful and terrible, polar opposites of good and evil—the armored, radiant Ilarian and the muscular, gloomy Beleth. A rush of wind and power would complete their landing, and anyone caught in the shockwave would be blown away; at worst, it would expose them to the opposing team, but Sylvanas and Chromie were behind the gate at the bottom lane, far enough to avoid the strength pouring from their epicenters.

When it had passed and the wind had died to a sigh, Sylvanas poked her head outside the holographic gate and scanned the area. The coast was clear, for mostly everyone was at the top lane fighting for the right to claim the Khazra for their own purposes at the time Ilarian and Beleth announced their presences. She waved for Chromie once more, Chromie nodded, and together they left the safety of the premises and out into the lane toward the smoke vents leading to the battlefield.

A ringing warble hailed from somewhere deep within those vents, and Sylvanas found herself looking down at a line of blue light going right through her stomach. It was not her Nova's sights were trained on, but "Chromie! Stay behind me!" She snapped this warning with a whirling snap of her head over shoulder. Her bow was set to position, readied and aimed toward what she hoped would be between Nova's eyes.

Instead, she caught the briefest glimpse of Chromie rising into the air on bronze dragon wings, her feet lifting from the ground as though she were a cherub and not a dragon in gnomish guise. "Oh, hey, would you look at the time! It's half past AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN!" Then she took off like a rocket at hypersonic speed, trailing afterimages of herself and twin rivers of sand.

Sylvanas's jaw dropped and her ears shot straight up. "Wait, what—" She was cut short by the first photon shot knocking her head clean off shoulders. The last two shots sailed clear over her collapsing body and slammed into the gate, which absorbed most of the impact. Her head evaporated in a whirl of dust and atoms.

From the vent, Nova gaped at the corpse of the Banshee Queen. Horror mingled with surprise and amusement, but in the few seconds she spent standing in an existential stupor, it was horror that won out in the end. Clenching her teeth, she hugged the rifle to her chest and scrambled away, preferring to find shelter in the safety of another vent Sylvanas would not be able to find her in.

But Nova was far from the truth; when Sylvanas respawned at the Hall of Storms, she wasn't mad at her. She couldn't even fault her for it, and for the first time in the history of the Nexus, Sylvanas would not kill Nova in retaliation, annoyance, or boredom, and the saddest thing of all was that no one would ever know.

Sylvanas urged her mount, the grey stallion everybody knew and loved and affectionately called Mr. Horse, off the steps and studied the horizon over the looming gates. Ilarian and Beleth were flying across the battlefield, clashing blades once, twice, and then teleporting to a different set of platforms.

Sylvanas reached into her rune bag and withdrew the handheld. Clicked on a few keys and zoomed out of the mini-map on the screen. Everybody was still up. Still alive.

She nodded. She put away the portable, closed the bag, and pressed the jutted wings of her heels against Mr. Horse's flanks to get him moving.

When she arrived at the westernmost gate, she dismounted him and sent him back through the Nexus. She crossed the holographic energy shield that powered through the gate itself and the twin cannon towers, past the Khazra siege camp that watched her with wary, bullish eyes, and hunkered down in a smoke vent behind the cover of a fancy wall of High Heaven artistry. She peered around the corner, making sure to keep her ears folded low and against her skull.

It was pure chaos out there. Sonya and the Butcher were trading blow for blow with swords and axes, splashing blood over the ground. Gazlowe was stomping after Morales, his robo-goblin equipped with whirring, screaming saws on the ends of its hands. Li-Ming and Tassadar were taking potshots at Ilarian. Nova was nowhere in sight, but perhaps she was hiding, lining her shots and waiting for the right moment to drop her cover. And Chromie—

Ah, there was Chromie. Lobbing dragon-shaped missiles and waterfalls of sand at them, pushing them back toward Beleth. Just the usual sort of thing Chromie would do.

Sylvanas didn't take the bow off its sling. She didn't bother to check how many arrows she had in her quiver. She waited until Ilarian finished swiping his weapons through the air in a spinning attack, waited for the Nephalem and the protoss to inch closer toward the angelic immortal, waited for Chromie to prime one of her hourglass traps in the smoke vent, waited, waited….

Now!

She vaulted over the wall, issuing a low whistle that elicited the spectral banshees to materialize and crawl across the arena. She calculated the apex of the distance crossed and, when it reached that point where they started to dissipated, Sylvanas covered the ground in a dash of black, unholy fog. She reformed seconds later right beside Chromie and several feet away from Li-Ming.

"Sylvanas!" Chromie exclaimed. "Oh hey, listen, about earlier…no hard feelings, right? You were gonna come back anyway, and I needed to go back to restore my health. It wouldn't do us any good if both of us were eliminated this late in the game—"

"That's great, Chromie," Sylvanas ground out forcibly.

"Actually, with the way things are, it'd work out in our favor," said Li-Ming, grinning. "Wouldn't you agree, Tassadar?"

"I believe it would be in our best interest if we made a hasty retreat," said the protoss. "I sense a shift in the atmosphere, one that does spell favorably toward us."

"Oh, don't be silly!" Li-Ming waved him off. "Look at her! She's either suicidal or she's just plain ole giving up. I saw what happened to you, Sylvanas, old girl. Any lesser person would feel the same way, even a self-proclaimed Queen!"

"Yes, that's right," Sylvanas said.

"Well that's fine and dandy! After all, this is territory I've come to familiarize myself with in my travails in my sector. It's certainly no Undercity, that's for sure. I wouldn't expect you to know every nook and cranny there is to see this side of the Nexus…or, uh, whatever this side of Heaven or Hell we're on, so to say."

"Uh huh."

"Uh huh. Now stand still. I could afford to give this old wand a bit of FINE TUNING!" Li-Ming lightly tossed the source up into the air, then with swift savagery snatched it as it came down and smashed it against the smaller orb floating just above the swell of the wand. Arcane energy blasted from the source toward Sylvanas. She stared it down, stone-faced.

Chromie backpedalled, stumbled, picked herself up, and backpedalled again. "Oh hey, would you look at the time. It's half past—"

"NOPE!" Sylvanas snatched her by the back of the collar just as Chromie whirled around and bodily hauled her front and center. Muscles and sinew bunching cordlike across her arm, the Banshee Queen flung the gnome as hard as she could at Li-Ming. Lo and behold, the gnomish missile struck true, hitting the wizard square in the face.

Tassadar couldn't react quick enough to throw up a shield around her. The sudden force knocked the projection of the beam skyward into the mishmash of heaven and hell. It also brought Li-Ming's hands up to catch Chromie and throw her aside, in that instant forgetting about the source and the wand.

The result was an explosive, arcanic dome that rocked the battlefield. When the energy dissipated and Tassadar slipped back into reality from the Void, there was no sign to be had of Sylvanas, Chromie or Li-Ming. He sighed and shook his head. "Ah, young one, you never cease to amaze me. When will you ever learn?"

Somewhere behind him, Beleth had tossed his horned head back, roaring laughter. "YES! YES! BRUTALIZE THEM!"

"HAVE FAITH, MY WARRIORS!" Illarian hailed. "HOPE YET REMAINS!" He managed to sound resolute in his conviction, but even he doubted, deep down, if luck would be on his side for very long.

* * *

A minute later, the three of them awoke in the Hall of Storms, all lying flat on their backs. Somewhere, the fight was still going on. Somewhere, the Butcher roared "FRESH MEAT!" and Sonya responded in kind with her barbaric yodel.

Li-Ming blew hair from her face. "Well. That was…totally unexpected." She glanced at Sylvanas. "You know you're going to get penalized by the Board again, right?"

"Don't care," said Sylvanas, whose head was turned away to glare at Chromie. "That was worth it."

Chromie shrugged, nonchalant. "Meh, it's okay. I'm going to get my revenge, anyway. I've all the time in the world to correct my calculations and close any loopholes I find. Trust me, I know the perfect time and place to get the jump on you."

"Good luck with that," Sylvanas sniffed. "I don't sleep."

Chromie giggled. "That's never stopped me before."

"Then you know what happens after the Northrend campaign, don't you?"

The color in Chromie's face dulled, the smile replaced with a frown. "…Oh." She looked down the length of her body, past the hands clasped on her lap to her feet. "Oh, that's…That's…Oh." She trailed off in a tiny, defeated voice.

Sylvanas closed her eyes and smirked, enjoying the sun.


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** The Lie That is Truth  
 **Description:** "Medivh tells Sylvanas the dream she has had but never wants to be realized, and the warning she must abide by."  
 **Notes1:** This was ready to go yesterday, but by the time I did have it finished and prepared to upload on the Doc Manager I had to leave for work.  
 **Notes2:** Spoilers abound for anyone not in the know about _World of Warcraft: Legion_ , especially in regards to Turalyon and Alleria's fate and apparent involvement. I would figure that Medivh, given his status that he is "among legends", would have considerable knowledge of what goes on throughout all time streams both past, present, and future. This piece was originally just going to be about Medivh talking to Sylvanas about Alleria, but not even a couple days later, when I set out to write this, his trailer was released and outright confirmed Gul'dan's eventual appearance in the game.  
 **Notes3:** Yes, I'm still working on that other chapter. It's a bit of long one, and given that I'll be busy with work this Wednesday and Thursday (we're opening up a new store not five minutes from where I live), I won't have too much time on it.  
 **Notes4:** Yes, I have seen that HeroStorm episode...and I hated it. It made Sylvanas look like a little bitch, and Sylvanas, in my eyes, is far from that. I much prefer this portrayal of her.  
 **Notes5:** Also, I have completely forgotten that it's been a year since this story debuted! Although it's hinted in this chapter that, like all games that run and depend on a central server, it will end someday, I should like to hope that I will continue working on this until that time comes.

* * *

"I can see into the future…and regardless of what you may think, she is in it."

She ceased her ministrations, the only movement to be made coming from the ramrod straightening of her ears. When her thoughts finally caught up with her, her body moved of its own accord, dragging down the hand poking at the scar slashing diagonally through one bushy eyebrow and across her forehead to its side. She whirled around, tattered cape flying behind her making a sound like unfurled canvas, and stared at the Guardian. His back was turned to her, his face turned to the town sprawled far and below the cliff they were on. Shire-by the-Rocks, the townsfolk called it, sometimes Hubtown, or even The Hub, home of heroes and villains and the occasional temporal rift. "What?" Sylvanas parroted. She had wanted to say more, plenty more in regards to those words, ask him how he could possibly know, if he could read minds because she wasn't even thinking about her but rather the fact that she gained another such 'trophy' courtesy of that damn Crusader's shield, but this…this was all she could manage: a stupid, shell-shocked, one-worded reply.

"She is in it," Medivh repeated calmly. "When you thought her gone, she was out there, fighting. Far, far away, removed from the chaos of the Burning Legion and its undead swarm. Removed from the bedlam of war, despair, and the shattering of the world. She knows not your fate…but still she thinks. She thinks of you. Your family. Your…home."

"You know nothing, Guardian," Sylvanas ground out in a snarl. "I don't know what brought this on, but if you think for a second that you believe you know me—"

"I see what there is to see," he said, "having taken my place among the legends. But Sylvanas, you must know that where I go, where they are, time flows differently. What has passed for nigh on thirty years on Azeroth…it is nothing compared to what they have been through. The traumas they've endured, the people that have fallen, the worlds that have succumbed to destruction. And yet…hope remains, for the brighter the light shines the darker the shadow grows. She is among that light, her and the High Exarch who was once High General of the Sons of Lothar. They do what they must, what they can to preserve the last remaining world in the Great Dark Beyond."

"You lie." Now she sounded strained, furious, shaken, and it took all her willpower not to outwardly show the fear and impossible hope that suddenly surged within her. "My sister is dead. Her and Turalyon…they're gone. They're gone!"

"So you say," said Medivh, and she could hear the frown in his voice.

"Of course I'm right! The only person who knows me is me! Not you!"

"Are you so certain that is the case?" Finally, he faced her, one shoulder to the backdrop of the town, the wooden raven figurehead that comprised the staff Atiesh staring pointedly in that direction. "If anything, based on what little interaction we've had together and the gossip I hear among the townsfolk, I would say they know more about you than you do yourself." He gave a tight, small smile at the stunned look. "Don't try to hide it. The Nexus changes people—for better or worse, I cannot say; that is strictly up to the individual. I can see well and clear it has affected you; that is why, on many occasions, you, well, indiscriminately murder people when things don't go your way. You don't want things to be that way, so you lash out. But they come back; they always do. It is either the Way of the Nexus, or the Will of the Powers That Be. Even though you are bereft of your people, without the noise and accompaniment of your friends, you would be lost without them. The role of a monarch, even one as self-proclaimed as you, is harsh and lonely. Am I not right?"

By that point, Sylvanas was holding the shadow dagger in her hands. However, the dagger itself remained in its sheath. Her grip on both the sheath and the hilt were hard, unrelenting, anchored. Her frown was deep and severe, the glare in her eyes sharp and challenging, daring the Guardian to speak out of turn so she could refute him, shout him down, have him on his knees and admit he was wrong, wrong, wrong.

And so in turn, the Guardian stared back, stone-faced, yet there was something else she saw. It was the same look she gave Alleria so many years ago, a lifetime ago, when the Second War was in full swing and the Old Horde had scorched the forests of Quel'Thalas. The same look Alleria said for her to wipe clean and buck up, they were Windrunners, the orcs had no remorse for fallen trees or dead little brothers, why should the Quel'dorei be expected to show the same?

It was the face of pity, and it was the very same one Medivh was giving to her right now.

She hated it.

She wanted nothing more than to draw the dagger out and drive it home, right between those damned, hawkish eyes.

And as if he read her mind, Medivh said, "I have already died once, Sylvanas. Killing me a second, third, and fourth time won't do you any favors…and I'm not just saying that because we are in the Nexus. Hard as it may be, given your condition, you should be happy with what you have. Cherish them, if you will. One day the Nexus will have no more need of us and we shall all be returned to whence we came. The memories we have made and will make here…even I cannot say what will become of them. All that may remain of them…might be mere echoes." He turned away from her then, resuming his vigil over the Shire-by-the-Rocks, the feathered cloak hiding the knobby slump of his shoulders. "For now, I would ask for you, for everyone, to be on the alert in the coming days. You have seen the storms on the horizon, have you not? These are not the fractal crashes you are familiar with."

"Anyone with a brain in this hellhole should know what they are," groused Sylvanas. "Even as stupid as they are, they sense that something is off about them. This is demonic, isn't it?"

"Indeed. It is a storm you will not see on this scale for quite a while in your sector, but for me it is one that is all too familiar, a storm made by the presence of a single entity. You will know him, in time. If there is one person you must direct your anger at, let it be him."

"Oh? And what concern is he to me, that I must unleash that anger out on him instead of you?" His words reminded her of the mistake named Varimathras, the foolish idea of accepting him into the Forsaken fold during a time when she was newly raised and not so wise, thinking him easy to manipulate to perform everything at her bidding. Who else could it be in her life that had earned her ire so?

"Because he is the one who made the Old Horde what they were. Through him, they set flame to your home and sowed in the seeds of the destruction that has torn not only your family apart but also your entire race." Medivh peered over his shoulder and, through the fringes of his dark hair and the hood that covered it, stared down at Sylvanas with one dark eye. To Sylvanas, it was like gazing, and falling, into a black, yawning chasm as ancient and terrible as the day of its formation that continued to stretch into eternity. "His name is Gul'dan. Remember it well."


	22. Chapter 22

**Title:** Pay Attention to Your Surroundings, Reddit  
 **Description:** "Not for the first time, Sylvanas takes note of how...'dense' the general populace can be."  
 **Notes1:** Again, I wanted to get this out before work a couple days ago but I've been busy, and as of this time I've about an hour and twenty minutes out before I have to head out back to the old grind.  
 **Notes2:** I'm of the opinion that HotS didn't need an in-game clock, because all I have to do is look to my right and check the time on my bedroom wall. I didn't see what the big deal was back then on the subreddit, I still don't see it now, hence the comment Sylvanas makes at the very end.  
 **Notes3:** Originally, I was planning to include a stealth reference to TGNSquadron and MFPallytime as residents of the Nexus who are very enthusiastically waiting for Deathwing to appear in the Nexus, along with some other folk being adamant about Terokk (of all people) riding on top of him as a mount. Guys, I'm just as curious as who will make their presence known after Gul'dan, but there comes a point where a joke stops being funny and it turns into beating Mr. Horse beyond the point of death and into beef; then it becomes an annoyance. That, however, doesn't stop me from watching their streams when I have the time for it. It's really the only grievance I have toward them.  
 **Notes4:** Although not directly named, the book Sylvanas is reading is Stephen King's _Skeleton Crew_ , particularly the short story "Survivor Type".

* * *

"Tell me, ole chap," said the gentleman to his companion, "how goes that new fandangled device? The, uh, whatchamacallit?"

"This watch?" said the companion, raising his arm for the other to see.

"Why yes! The watch! I hear word going around that you can tell time with numbers now! Can you believe that?"

"Why yes, you can! Look you here." He pushed up the sleeve of his pinstripe suit and tapped a silk-lined finger at the watch's glass interface. "See these black sticks? This short one is slow and points at the hour we are on now, and the longer one is fast and always on the move, pointing at the minute. Roundabouts this circumference are sixty black ticks, twelve of which are larger than the other; these are what we call intervals. The long stick is on the sixth interval, the shorter on the third, so if my guess is correct…the time would be…."

"Three-by-six?"

"Yes, indeed! Three-by-six!" He nodded approvingly. "Although it would be much easier to say it's _half-past three_. You do not want to sound like a junkyard husker or a cotton picker. Do bear this in mind for future reference."

"I will remember that. Thank you for looking out for me, old bean," said the man, clapping the fellow on the back. "It wouldn't do me any good if I were to slip into such frivolous diction."

"We must all see to one another, especially with these watches and clocks being reintroduced into the Greater and Lesser Belts beyond the Rocks. Did you hear they've refurbished that old overgrown cottage out by the Wend into a church for that little midget?"

"I did, and you would do well not to call Chronormu a midget! She is a _bronze dragon_ in the guise of a _gnome_ , a _little person_."

"Even littler than those dwarves?"

"Even littler!"

"Well then, my apologies, good sir, but you must understand they are gathering quite the following to their locale and making the rounds to hold daily sermons in their crude handwriting. Why, I've heard they're even smuggling all manner of electrical hodgepodge when we're not looking, like the clepsydra and the water-powered tablets, so they can spread word of potluck dinners, feng shui, and whatever sorts of tomfoolery they come up with to fit their agenda!"

The man quirked a brow. "How is that any different from the Churches of Light and Darkness, or any of the churches that adhere to heretic deities and other such denominations?"

"Eh?" was all the other had to utter. "What do you mean?"

"The Churches also have potluck dinners, feng shui, and a menagerie of activities," he said. "They also worship a pantheon of higher beings, some of which consist of the Powers That Be. It's just that this time their person of worship is a dragon who can see through all foreseeable timeways in the Nexus."

"In the guise of a _gnome_ ," repeated the companion. "A _little person_."

"Big people love little people, don't you know? Why do you think we have gym shoes and tennis shoes and cleats with Falstad and Swiftwing on them?"

"But aren't dwarves just as small—"

"NO. NO, THEY ARE NOT. DEFINITELY NOT. They are big, I tell you! BIG! BIG!" He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and gave him two rough shakes for emphasis. "And no matter how small Chronormu may appear to be, her name will be bigger and spread wider than any gryphon's wings way up there in the sky! Hail Chronormu! Say it with me! HAIL CHRONORMU!"

"HAIL CHRONORMU!" The man stammered. He was rather taken aback by the force that which the other was applying him with, but it seemed as though it came across more as a tone of fright than shock.

"Be proud, godsdammit!" growled the first gentleman. "Stand up and show your colors! HAIL CHRONORMU!"

"HAIL CHRONORMU!"

He shook his shoulders. "Again!"

"HAIL CHRONORMU, MY GOOD MAN!"

Now roaring: "One more time! For the little people!"

"HAIL CHRONORMU, HAIL CHRONORMU, HAIL CHRONORMU!" And all the while he was being jostled back and forth like the training dummies at the Heroes' Court, only it was by dint and grace it was only just that and not the usual damage they were subjected to (lightning, fire, magic, the likes; oh, and being drenched in murloc slime and exploding fish guts). Finally, his friend let go, and he was left gathering his breath. "Zounds, brother! You have strength in those bones!" He straightened up and fixed his collar, smoothed the folds and creases of his suit.

The man threw his head back, laughing heartily. "There are still many decades left in this ole hound before I can start to worry about those physical maladies! Come, my friend, it's _twenty-to-four_. Let us catch the monorail and peruse the luncheon special over at the Whimsical Unicorn."

"That sounds like a smashing idea! I should like to hope they have some of that Peking duck today…." Their conversation trailed off as they wandered away from the area, their words coalescing into whispering phantoms.

Sylvanas lowered the book and looked around. The park was bustling with activity today—noblewomen in their voluminous dresses hiding from the beating heat of the sun under their umbrellas on benches made from recycled plastic bottles, children wearing flat caps and dusty coveralls playing marbles or gin rummy in the dirt, men in three-piece suits lighting their pipes and listening to whatever baseball game was playing on the carry-on HoloVision. There was a serf going around closing up the plastic lining around the garbage bin with a massive zip-tie.

Then she noticed the little details: a pair of ladies on their benches admiring a pocket watch dangling on a gold chain; a peasant child lingering at the back of the others huddled over their marbles refilling his clepsydra from a plastic bottle with the word POM emblazoned on the front; a gentleman reclining in a lawn chair checking the time on his Rolex before returning his focus back to the game.

She looked behind her over her shoulder, taking in the clock tower standing high above the trees in the Rocks plaza. In a few hours—five _sets_ , they called the hour, or a _quintet_ —the sun would set and the world would reach the apex called the blue hour, descend into twilight, and finally, darkness.

That clock tower was there when she had arrived in the Nexus. It was there when the others came before her. It was there for Chromie, and it would be there for the Heroes that would come thereafter.

She looked away and shook her head. "Idiots," she murmured, and then turned her attention to the page where she left off.


	23. Chapter 23

**Title:** That DUDE is on FIRE  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas, Jaina and Li-Ming try to help Kael'thas deal with a...minor...problem."  
 **Notes1:** The majority of this was written way back in late April/early May, when I had just started my job. They always play the same songs there, but at the old store (this was two months before all of us moved to the new location) they had Alicia Keys' "Girl on Fire" playing on the intercom one day while I was doing training on a computer in the Personnel office. That was what inspired the title...and the mental imagery that came along with it.  
 **Notes2:** This was also inspired by a rather game-breaking bug Kael'thas had at the time with his Living Bomb ability. IIRC, if you died with the Verdant Spheres trait activated, you could cast the Living Bomb indefinitely without a cooldown. People were abusing this so much that anyone that did so were reported and (supposedly) banned by Blizzard. This was patched sometime later.  
 **Notes3:** Also, with this chapter finally out, I hope this will put an end to Lucario and other, unspoken parties thinking I'm holding content back because I'm waiting for them to comment. I know that happened only that one time, but let's be clear again: I'm not, and I never will. You don't get free passes under my watch.  
 **Notes4:** Finally, I appreciate getting news about the latest heroes and whatnot, but I lurk on the subreddit quite often. I'll pretty much know about whatever announcement comes to pass well before you send me a message in relation to it.

* * *

"BY THE SUNWELL, SYLVANAS, HELP ME!"

Sylvanas leaped to the side as Kael'thas lunged past her, arms outstretched and hands reaching imploringly, desperately. He stumbled and fell, rolling, catching the grass alight in lumpy, cylindrical patterns. "Haven't you heard of water?!"

"IT WON'T WORK!" he cried, getting to his feet and beating at his chest. It caused more flames to bloom and spread further over his body. "IT ALL TURNS TO STEAM! OH GODS, I CAN'T STOP BURNING!"

"Then go get Jaina, you abominable idiot! Or Li-Ming! Xul! Anybody! Don't just stand there!"

"AND IF THEY CAN'T HELP ME?"

Sylvanas threw her arms up in the air. "Then I guess you're screwed!"

Kael'thas tried to bury his face in his hands, but everything was engulfed in fire and hot to the touch, so he yelped and drew them back, sweeping back soot and orange-yellow sparks. Or maybe that was hair; neither elf could quite tell. "I SHOULD HAVE NEVER DARED EXPLOIT THE POWER OF THE LIVING BOMB! LOOK AT ME, SYLVANAS!" He gestured wildly at himself, eyes that were still startlingly solid wide and feverish directed her way. "LOOK AT WHAT IT'S DONE TO ME!"

"You only have yourself to blame!" Sylvanas decried. "You should know better than to tamper with powers you don't have complete control over!" She harrumphed. "Some Sun King you are!"

"I HAVE TO BE BETTER THAN I ALREADY AM! FOR THE NEXUS! FOR THE SIN'DOREI!" Kael'thas sniffled through his nostrils, which somehow made the flames react and billow ferociously around the candle that was his face. "WHAT KIND OF A KING AM I IF I CAN'T PERFECT MYSELF AND PROTECT THEM IN RETURN?!" He snorted, only to sputter and hack. "OH…OH, I THINK I JUST SWALLOWED SOME ASH!"

"Come on, you big baby!" Sylvanas brushed past him, being mindful not to touch him at all. She whipped out the little handheld PC and began typing commands in the Hero Locator app. "We're going to the stables!"

"THE STABLES? WHY THE STABLES?"

"The Nexus Animal Welfare Society is doing their routine checkups this week, and who else is better qualified for your malady than Lieutenant Morales? Perhaps we shall find Jaina and Li-Ming there as well." And Valla, always Valla, would be present, coddling the beasts and making sure they were as comfortable as possible amidst a presence of needles and machinery that would inspect them.

"IS MORALES EVEN A LICENSED VETERINARIAN?"

"How should I know? If she's there, she's there. If she's not, she's not; we'll just have to ask the girls and see if they can help. If not, then we go find Morales. And stop yelling so much! You can't be in that much pain."

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW I'M STILL ALIVE!"

* * *

"Sylvanas! Are you out of your mind?!" Valla cried. She had been assisting the veterinarians and technicians with applying their standard routines, calming the beasts in varying degrees of hesitance, anxiety, and defensiveness to the best of their ability; and when they had relaxed and were attended to, she would reward them with food, water, pats on the head or flank, or a gaggle of rambunctious quilen puppies and space-warping dogs. So when she had exited the barn and come around the corner, she was not surprised to see Sylvanas—after all, ever since she met Doodle, she had been making more trips to see him and take him and the pack for walks.

What did was seeing a man literally on fire, from the tips of long, foliated ears to the tips of what should have been those fancy boots made from lynx hides. When he saw her, he hurdled past Sylvanas in a drunken gait, arms flailing in her direction. "VALLA! VALLA, HELP ME!"

"Kael'thas?!" She turned a glare on Sylvanas. "What did you do this time?! Do you SEE the environment we're in?"

Sylvanas shrugged, nonplussed. "I didn't do anything. He did this to himself."

"VALLA!" Kael'thas cried again. "WHERE'S JAINA? IS SHE HERE? WHAT ABOUT LI-MING?" He reached out to grab her, and Valla nimbly jumped back.

"They're in the back somewhere!"

"AND THE DOCTOR? LIEUTENANT MORALES?"

"She's not here!"

"THEN WHERE?!"

"I don't know! Back in town, I think!"

"ALL THE WAY BACK THERE? YOU'RE KIDDING ME! I NEED HELP RIGHT NOW! I NEED WATER! DO YOU HAVE ANY WATER?"

"Yes, we do—"

"OH THANK YOU! THANK YOU!"

"But it's for the animals! They need it more than you!"

"WHY? THEY'RE NOT THE ONES ON FIRE!"

"And that's a damn good thing, I'll say!"

"VALLA, PLEASE! PLEASE SPARE ME SOME WATER!"

"Kael'thas, you just said water didn't help—" Sylvanas began.

"MAYBE THE WATER HERE WILL HELP! IT'S GOT TO!"

"This water's no different from the water you drink, knucklehead! The only difference is that this is purified and consumed by goddamn barn animals!"

"YOU NEVER KNOW! MAYBE THERE'S SOMETHING IN IT THAT'LL HELP!"

"It's _purified!_ "

"THE PURER THE BETTER!"

"What is all this yelling about?" said Jaina. She hurried around the corner with a pack of quilen puppies at her heels. Doodle was leading them, and he barked happily when he saw Sylvanas sulking behind Kael'thas's scorching outline. He signaled the dogs to follow him in a relentless charge.

"AHHH! PUPPIES! WATCH OUT! NO, NOT BETWEEN THE LEGS! DON'T…DON'T TOUCH ME! OHHH…BE CAREFUL! AHHHH!" Kael'thas sidestepped them, crossing ankles and nearly falling over as he turned in a dizzying circle. The puppies ignored him, their vision tunneling in on the Banshee Queen.

She planted her feet on the ground and braced herself. "Slow down! I said, SLOW…Oh Darkness—oof!" Sylvanas caught Doodle as he launched himself into her arms, but the rest of the pack crashed into her and sending her onto her back. She sat and pulled her face back to allow Doodle to lick the side of her face instead of the usual frontal assault he preferred. "Easy, easy! Not so hard! You'll peel the skin off!" The rest of the puppies gathered around her, some putting their forepaws on her legs and knees, others getting on their hind legs to perch their fronts on her shoulders and lick under her ears or attempt to nibble and pull them; these she brushed off with a single hand.

"By the Light, Kael'thas!" Jaina exclaimed. "What the…How in the world…What is even going on?!"

"Let me see!" came Li-Ming's voice, and she, too, joined her from behind. Her eyes popped open at the sight of the blood elf, but then she recovered, scoffing haughtily. "Well. I don't know what you were doing prior to this, but this just proves that a mage will always be second, nay, third best, when it comes to competing with the might of a wizard!"

"I WASN'T COMPETING WITH YOU, YOU INSOLENT WHELP!" said Kael'thas. "I WAS TRYING TO MAKE MY LIVING BOMB SPELL STRONGER! HIT HARD! SPREAD FASTER! LIKE A DISEASE! THAT IS THE SUN KING'S PRIDE AND FURY!"

"And somewhere along the line, it backfired and, through luck or providence, you're still standing," Jaina deduced.

"WELL…MAYBE. MAYBE NOT. I DON'T KNOW. IT'S BEEN HAPPENING OFF AND ON FOR," Kael'thas tried to do a count on his fingertips, remembered that all that remained was a hand entirely engulfed in flames, "GIVE OR TAKE A FEW WEEKS? B-BUT IT'S NOT LIKE I EXPECTED FOR THIS TO HAPPEN!"

"Or you didn't think it'd happen," Li-Ming quipped.

"I DIDN'T _EXPECT_ THIS TO HAPPEN!" he repeated through clenched teeth. "IT JUST DID, AND FOR THE PAST COUPLE DAYS I'VE BEEN WALKING AROUND, MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS, LOOKING LIKE SOMETHING THAT BROKE OUT OF THE BURNING HELLS! IT IS NOT AN IMAGE FIT FOR A KING!"

"As a matter of fact," Sylvanas began, finally managing to keep Doodle in place right in her lap, "it is. The symbol of the Sin'dorei is the phoenix. In some Terran cultures, it's said that when a phoenix dies it bursts into flame and turns into ash before it is reborn."

"Sylvanas, you're not suggesting—" Jaina began warily.

"I'M NOT WAITING TO DIE AGAIN, DAMMIT!" Kael'thas decried, whirling on Sylvanas; the blaze that comprised his head flared with a deep, throaty _whoomp_ , the tongues glowing diamonds. "IT'S BAD ENOUGH I'VE BEEN GOING ABOUT MY DAYS ACCIDENTALLY STARTING FOREST FIRES AND BRINGING EXTINCTION TO THE ANIMAL KINGDOM TEN TIMES OVER! WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO AS A PILE OF ASH?!"

"Look pretty in a porcelain urn up on the mantelpiece in the library, or at the first floor lobby at the Hubworld University," Sylvanas explained. "Even better: in the Nexus History Museum. Any of them, really. People from the Nexus over will flock to your display and learn of the Hero who died post-transition via the negligence that is your hubris."

"WHAT KIND OF A POST-MORTEM IS THAT? I REFUSE TO BE REMEMBERED IN SUCH A WAY!" To Jaina and Li-Ming, the latter who was gesturing to someone he couldn't see that everything was 'alright' and to leave them be: "YOU'RE BOTH MAGIC USERS! THROW SOME OF YOUR FROST SPELLS AT ME! AS HARD AS YOU CAN!"

"Hey, do frost bolts from my crossbows count?" Valla asked, patting the weapons hanging at her hips. "All you have to do is stand still and—"

"I'LL NOT ADD 'FLAMING PINCUSHION' TO MY ALREADY RUINED OUTWARD APPEARANCE!" Kael'thas railed. He took a step forward toward the mages; Jaina stepped back, but Li-Ming stood her ground. She glanced at her elder and harrumphed, turning her nose up at her. "GO ON! EITHER ONE OF YOU! LAY IT ALL ON ME! GIVE NO QUARTER!"

Li-Ming stared at him for a beat. Then she shrugged. "Well, when you put it that way, I definitely can't say no. Just stay still. This'll just take a moment—" She moved to draw her wind and summon her source.

Jaina's hands shot out, clamping over the wizard's wrists. "We're trying to _douse_ him, not _kill_ him. Go easy on him!"

Li-Ming rolled her eyes. "Oh, but _of course_ it'd be the mage who complains about the lack of restraints and resultant danger! Burn your books some more and learn from a true master, Proudmoore! You could surely benefit from that."

Jaina made a choked sound, her cheeks blooming rose red. "Th-That was a long time ago! And he asked both of us, not just you! If you'll allow me, I'll go first and show you that mental balance and arcane precision will be enough to quench those flames!"

Li-Ming made a dramatic show of bowing low at the waist in a flourish. "Go right ahead! Don't let me stop you!"

"Yes, well, that's all fine and dandy," said Valla, "but if you're going to be lobbing spells left and right, do it away from the barn. We don't want to be blowing millions of gold on reconstructing the stables. AGAIN." She leveled a milk-curdling glare at Sylvanas.

Sylvanas scowled. "You know, I'm getting real sick and tired of you bringing that up."

"Because it was your bright idea you had to get into Hammer's tank in the first place!"

"Ugh! I don't know how many times I have to recount every little detail of that incident to you! And regardless, this has nothing to do with that." She pointed at the flaming candle that was Kael'thas. "Why don't you tell him to keep his distance? Have you forgotten this whole place is made from wood?"

Now it was Valla's turn to blush, but unlike Jaina she had quickly regained her composure. "Ah! Well! Er…."

"And once again, your blind love for your fellow, non-sentient animal reigns supreme over common sense." Sylvanas ruffled the hair between Doodle's ears, gently pushed off a quilen pup that was tugging not so gently on her ear, and got to her feet. "Go join D.E.H.T.A. if you care so much. I hear they do more than 'bond', if you catch my drift. Why don't I regale you with some of those tales from my sector, eh? With your body type and mobile dexterity, you might learn a thing or two."

Jaina stared at her, equal parts stunned and disgusted at the thought she just had. So did Li-Ming, but more wide-eyed and amazed. Kael'thas silently burned, content with staring at the blackened ground smoldering at his feet.

Valla was silent, but her face had colored a deeper, darker shade. "…J-Just take care of Kael'thas."

"So I will. Won't we, ladies?" Sylvanas asked of them. "Of course we will," she added without waiting for their answer. "There's a man on fire we have to try to…save."

"You meant to 'put out of his misery', right?" Jaina asked, a little stiffly.

Sylvanas sniffed scornfully. "It won't matter because it may or may not happen again. It's either us or the Lieutenant, and if neither option works then, well," she shrugged her shoulders and rolled them back, "I suppose the Powers That Be will think of something. Or Gazlowe. I am sure he can come up with an invention that will put a stop to those flames."

"I think I'd rather have the Powers help. Gazlowe is…well, he's, um, special—"

"He's not very reliable," Li-Ming finished for her.

"BETTER THAN ME SPENDING WHAT TIME I HAVE THIS GO-AROUND LIKE THIS!" said Kael'thas. "SOMEBODY IS SURE TO BE A GODSEND. I JUST KNOW IT!"

"Don't get too excited," Sylvanas grumbled low under her breath.

* * *

"RIGHT, THIS IS HOW WE DO IT," Kael'thas explained. They had moved away from the barn, much to Valla's relief, and congregated at a grassy, shrubby field at a far-out, safe, and respectable distance from civilized society. Sylvanas watched as he pointed his finger at Jaina and then at Li-Ming. "I DON'T CARE WHO GOES FIRST. YOU CAST YOUR STRONGEST SPELL ON ME. SEE WHAT HAPPENS. WHICHEVER WORKS, I'LL TREAT THAT PERSON TO A MOVIE, A DINNER, AND DESSERT OF YOUR CHOOSING. OR WHATEVER YOU WANT; IT DOESN'T MATTER TO ME, I HAVE THE GOLD TO COVER US."

"Kael'thas, I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but I'm just not that interested in you," said Jaina. "You not being on fire anymore is the only reward I want."

"THAT'S VERY NICE, JAINA, BUT TRULY I MEAN WHAT I SAID."

"So do I, but let's be honest, you're going to insist on it until I get fed up and agree to it. Isn't that right?"

Kael'thas was silent. "JAINA."

"Yes?"

"PLEASE," he pleaded tiredly. "JUST DO IT."

"Let's get this over with already," Sylvanas groused; her fingers were scratching behind one of Doodle's ears, his tail slapping happily against her bicep. "My dog's getting hungry, and as much as it pains me to admit this, Jaina would have a heart attack if I used you as a bonfire to roast the shanks I have stored in the fridge back at the dorm."

"Why would you want to do that?!" Jaina exclaimed.

"Now that's not such a bad idea," mused Li-Ming. "You know, if Kael'thas truly were a wizard and not some drug-addicted, self-proclaimed Sun King of the Sin'dorei."

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!" he wailed.

"I'm learning more about you the longer we're in the Nexus," said Sylvanas, "and believe me, it's not making your image look any better than you made it out to be in my sector."

"BUT IT HURTS, SYLVANAS! I AM A MASTER OF FLAME, AND FOR A PERSON SUCH AS I TO BE SAYING THAT IS—"

"Suck it up and get over it! We're wasting time. Tell someone to get started before Li-Ming gets fed up waiting and decides she's going to blow up the Hubland again."

"In all fairness, the Greater Dog put up quite the scuffle," said the wizard. "He's not only capable of time-warping abilities, he is also very resilient."

"ALL THIS TALK IS WELL AND FINE, BUT I THINK I'M ON THE CUSP OF LOSING MY VOICE AND I WILL NOT ALLOW FOR IT TO HAPPEN!" said Kael'thas. "SO LET'S GET STARTED! ONE OF YOU, HIT ME AS HARD AS YOU CAN! YES, JAINA, EVEN YOU; DON'T GIVE ME THAT LOOK. I'M SURE THERE HAVE BEEN TIMES WHERE YOU WANTED TO KEEP ME OUT OF YOUR HAIR IN FAVOR OF THAT BLUEBLOOD, TRAITOROUS RAT YOU CALLED A BOYFRIEND. DON'T YOU DARE HOLD IT IN; NOT ONLY DOES IT RUIN YOUR FINE COMPLEXION, IT WILL LEAVE DARK BLEMISHES UPON YOUR MENTAL HEALTH!" He swept his arms out, side by side. "WELL? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? HAVE AT IT! YOU ARE WOMEN OF FINE STANDING. LET ME HEAR YOU ROAR, ROAR, ROAR, FOR ALL THE NEXUS AND ITS REALMS TO HEAR!"

"Oh for the love of all that is Light and Darkness," Sylvanas groaned. She slapped a hand to her face and ran it down its length, shaking her head.

"Now Kael'thas," Jaina began, "as Archmage Antonidas once told me, sometimes having the quietest voice leaves the loudest impact of all—"

"And how does that even get anything done, huh?" Li-Ming interjected. She tossed her head back and sniffed. "Hmph! I didn't go through the Burning Hells and back by being a mouse! Oh no, no, no! Here, Proudmoore, allow me to show you the full might of my power—the power passed onto me by dint and wisdom of Isendra, the power that shook Heaven, Hell, and Sanctuary to their very foundations! The power…of the Chosen One!"

"NOW THAT IS WHAT I LIKE TO HEAR!" Kael'thas exclaimed, puffing up his chest. "GIVE IT ALL YOU'VE GOT! I WILL NOT FLINCH IN THE SLIGHTEST!"

"And that is a challenge I will take you up on!" Li-Ming took up her wand and source and stepped forward, and as soon as her foot touched the ground a massive spell circle emblazoned with runes expanded around her. She glanced over her shoulder, a sliver of moon peeling between her lips. "Are you watching, Proudmoore? You might learn a thing or two!"

Jaina clutched her staff tightly, unable to fight the sensation of her brows knitting and her face coloring at the onrush of unwanted, youthful memories. "We'll see," was all she said, maintaining calm.

Li-Ming's grin widened, a silver shark in infested waters. Then it was gone, for she turned away to face the fiery effigy that was the Lord of the Blood Elves. Frost was forming in the air as miniscule crystals around her, and her breath came out in streamers of white vapor. Kael'thas clenched the fireballs that were his hands into fists and planted his feet in the earth. This made the flames around him bush out in a powerful aura, sending a blast of heat all around. Doddle barked and panted. Sylvanas pulled out a fan from her belt, snapped it out, and fanned it in front of him.

Li-Ming swung the wand in front of her and cried: "FROST NOVA!" At her command, the crystals ceased their motions and elongated, sharpened to a deadly, wintry point. They formed a ring in front of her, hovering, aimed at Kael'thas, and in whistling shrieks shot forth. They impacted him with the force of ballistic missiles, smashing apart in brilliant diamond pieces. He let loose a single cry before he was buried amidst a cloud of ice and debris.

"Kael'thas!" Jaina exclaimed, starting forward.

"Oh, hold your britches!" Li-Ming said, blocking her path with an extended arm. "It's only a simple spell. He'll be fine. Just look. See, the fire's out—" She stopped and stared.

The smoldering shape that was on the ground picked itself up and brushed embers off its pants. Irradiated green eyes opened and the fires flared about its person in a fresh burst. It stared back at her, unamused. "LI-MING," it said, calmly. Then, uproariously: _"I'M STILL BURNING!_ WHAT IN THE FEL WAS THAT? YOU CALL THAT MAGIC?! LOOK AT THIS! LOOK. AT. THIS! I THOUGHT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE CHOSEN ONE!"

Li-Ming blinked owlishly. "I…I am! I always give it my best shot! For it to have no immediate effect…I thought for sure—"

"YOU DIDN'T THINK HARD ENOUGH, GODDAMMIT! YOU WERE MY BEST HOPE! NOW I HAVE TO BESEECH MY GOOD SELF ASK JAINA TO DO THE JOB YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DO!"

"Kael'thas, I don't know if our magic can put this out," Jaina said, studying him with great concern. "Maybe we should go find Doctor Morales or talk to the Board."

"MORALES IS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND AND THE POWERS ARE JUST GOING TO TELL US TO SOD OFF AND FIND A THAMATURGE WHO ACCEPTS OUR INSURANCE!"

"That's just about every licensed practitioner in the Nexus—"

"YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE, JAINA! PLEASE!" He clasped his hands and shook them in her direction. "I'LL…I'LL STOP PESTERING YOU WITH NOT-SO SUBTLE CUES FOR DATES AND PROMISES OF POWER OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN IF YOU CAN WORK YOUR ARCANE INTELLECT UPON THIS WRETCHED, OVERCOOKED HUSK OF A MAN! JUST MAKE THE PAIN GO AWAY!"

"You know," Sylvanas began, still fanning Doodle, "you could pray to the Light. I mean, you're positively glowing with it. Because, obviously, fire produces light and there's plenty of denominations based around such a thing. It wouldn't hurt to try—"

"NOBODY ASKED FOR YOUR INPUT!" said Kael'thas, whirling on her.

"No, really, I'm being serious…and I don't do religions or prayers and all that crazy nonsense you zealots do to each other (among other unsavory things). You might get lucky."

"I TURNED MY EYES FROM THE LIGHT WHEN THE SUNWELL WAS TAINTED. NOT EVEN CLOSING MY EYES WILL IT BRING ME AN IOTA OF COMFORT. AND DON'T GIVE ME ANY MORE OF YOUR SUGGESTIONS; THEY AREN'T GOING TO HELP AT ALL! NOW THEN, JAINA," Kael'thas implored kindly, presenting her a mock-salaam, "BE A DEAR THIS ONE TIME. I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT I AM A MAN OF MY WORD. WHEN I SAY THEM, I MEAN IT."

"And let me tell you," Sylvanas went on, "some of those words you're going to spout in the future are going to be repeated to hell and back. I think you know the ones. People can't shut up about it."

Kael'thas bared his fangs in a silent snarl, which showed up as a black scratch across his face. "JAINA."

She sighed. "You promise you'll ease up?"

"OF COURSE."

"Very well then. Now, Li-Ming, if you'll be so kind as to step back?" The wizard quirked an eyebrow, but—having been mollified by her failure—merely nodded and stepped off to the side. "Thank you. I don't want you to get caught up in them."

"Them?" Li-Ming parroted.

"It's taken me many a long month to perfect this spell. The blowback is…well, when you're in the thick of a team fight, you're not always focused on your surroundings. Now, Kael'thas, I need to come over just a little bit…that's it…that's it…don't get too close…there. Stop right there. Good. Alright." Jaina slammed the butt of her staff into the soft earth, summoning forth a magic circle of her own. Once again, the air chilled around them. The nonexistent breeze that blew in now and then picked up into a gale and howled, biting into her skin. Doodle barked, shook himself into a ball of fluff, and did the only thing he could do—bury his nose and face into the crook of Sylvanas's arm. She folded the fan shut, set it down next to her, and put her free arm over him for extra warmth.

As Li-Ming did before, Jaina swept the staff up and pointed it at Kael'thas. "RING OF FROST!" she yelled over the wind.

Another circle appeared underneath the Sun King's feet, large and blue. Runes glowed around the outer edge, pulsing once, twice. The flames covering his body sputtered, died down, but still he burned. He glanced to his left, glanced to his right, and then looked up at Jaina. "THAT'S IT? WHERE'S THE EARTH-SHATTERING— _GUHOOO!_ " The runes brightened, and the arcane circle stabilized amidst an explosion of ice. Kael'thas lost his balance, caught himself, and glanced around him. The outer edge was limned with thickening ice that was beginning to thaw. Then, just as he was recovering, the second circle bloomed in a rising, spectacular wave of water. It rushed above his head and came down on him in a rush, sealing off his protests in a freezing capsule.

"Hold on a minute!" Li-Ming said, snatching Jaina's wrist. "I thought you said we were dousing him!"

"We are," said Jaina.

"Gee, I didn't know _suffocation_ was added to its dictionary entry!"

"It's just for a few seconds—enough time for the magic to distill the fire. Look now, the ice is starting to crack." She pointed them out to her, at the cracks that were already spider-webbing all over the makeshift prison. Chunks ranging from pebbles to rocks the size of a hand loosened, fell, and dissipated into magical residue. Jaina smiled. "I don't see any flames. I think this might have just worked—" She yelped as a hand punched through the weakening wall. A second hand made another hole right next to it, and then a third. This process repeated itself until the capsule was blown away by the elf-shaped blaze stepping its first steps out of the fading runic circles. "Kael'thas?!"

"IT DIDN'T WORK," he said tonelessly, staring down at himself from his hands to his feet. "I ASKED FOR THE TWO MOST POWERFUL MAGES IN THE NEXUS—A SELF-PROCLAIMED CHOSEN ONE AND ANTONIDAS'S MOST PRIZED PUPIL—TO CURE A SIMPLE AILMENT OF MY OWN CREATION...AND IT DIDN'T WORK."

"Kael'thas…I'm sorry," Jaina ventured, shoulder slumping. "I tried. W-We tried. Don't feel bad."

"IT DIDN'T WORK," he mumbled again, ignoring her.

"You do know you're not doing yourself much of a favor trying to sound quiet when you're literally in pain, right?" Sylvanas quipped, letting go of Doodle and standing up. "Not exactly what I'd call an inside voice—"

"IT. DIDN'T. WORK!" Kael'thas roared, wheeling on the three of them. "YOU, YOU, YOU, AND _YOU!_ " He jabbed his index finger at Jaina, Li-Ming, Sylvanas and Doodle (for good measure). "YOU HAD ONE JOB, JUST ONE JOB, AND YOU ALL FAILED! FAILED! IS IT THAT HARD FOR YOU TO PUT OUT A SIMPLE MAGICAL FIRE?! NO! IT DAMN WELL SHOULDN'T! GODDAMMIT!"

"H-Hey now! Calm down!" Li-Ming stammered. "Stomping about like that's going to make your blood pressure skyrocket!"

"MY RAGE IS LIKE A ROCKET THAT WILL PIERCE THE HEAVENS AND SHATTER THE GRAVITATIONAL FIELDS THE NEXUS IS SET UPON AND INTO THE HEAVENS, HIT WARP SPEED AND GO THROUGH THE BURNING HELLS AND THE SPACES IN-BETWEEN, TOO! IT WILL BECOME A SELF-PERPETUATING CYCLE, AND IT WILL BE ALLYOUR FAULT! _YOU ARE ALL EQUALLY WORTHLESS!_ "

"Oh pipe down, you raging hard-on! Before you go and kill yourself on all that edge!" Sylvanas made a shoving motion, which got him to jump away from her. In her hand was the handheld PC that she held right up to his face. "Look right here. Do you see this?"

Kael'thas squinted at the screen. "IT'S A DOT."

"Can your eyes make out what kind of dot that is?"

"NOT REALLY."

"Yeah, I figured that much. Well, guess what, that dot's the Lieutenant. She's just arrived at the Chop Shop. If you hurry, you might be in luck and get her to help."

"REALLY?!"

"Indeed. Oh, but wait—you specifically made it clear you didn't want my suggestions." Sylvanas shrugged and withdrew the comp. "According to the search engine, the data shows she's been there for about…hmm, about a half-hour. For what, I don't know; shooting the breeze, I guess. Since yours is just as good as scrapped metal, I'll just go ahead and delete this from my search history—"

"YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" Kael'thas cried. "WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR? GIVE ME THE FASTEST, SHORTEST ROUTE WE CAN TAKE! I HAVE NO TIME FOR DAWDLING! MY DAYS OF PRETENDING TO BE A ROMAN CANDLE ARE HEREBY DECLARED _OVER!_ DO YOU HEAR ME? _THEY'RE OVER!_ " He flew past Sylvanas so quickly that a few stray embers caught the wind and lighted themselves on them hem of her cloak. She swore in Thalassian and gave it a few quick beats in the air. Jaina and Li-Ming fell back and watched him go, leaving a trail of burning grass and blackened earth in his wake. They exchanged bemused glances, shrugged, and hurried after him. Sylvanas and Doodle followed.

A few minutes later they arrived at the Chop Shop. The garage door was open, with Sergeant Hammer's siege tank taking up a good amount of space by being half-in and half-out. A Shop drone on treads was soldering a fresh red panel into its bulk with an attachable blowtorch. When the seal was applied it trundled along toward the back, stopped, and touched fire to metal. Hammer and Morales were off to the side by the turnstiles, engaged in conversation.

Kael'thas picked up speed. "LIEUTENANT MORALES!" he hailed, his voice borderline imitating a Velociraptor screech. "PRAISE THE SUN! I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO SEE A HUMAN IN MY LIFE!"

"Well hello there, Mister Sun—OH MY GOD!" Morales turned to greet him, but at the sight of him, pelting toward her while on fire, derailed her good nature right off a cliff.

"WHOOOA!" Hammer yelled, and cackled. "Holy crap, Kael! What did you do, try to imitate those Japanese characters in manga?"

"NO TIME TO EXPLAIN! JUST PLEASE, DOC, DOUSE THIS UNHOLY FIRE! YOU HAVE NANITES; GIVE THEM SOME WATER ATTRIBUTES! SOMETHING! ANYTHING!"

"Th-They don't work like that!" Morales stammered.

"YOU MUST HAVE SOMETHING! ANYTHING!" His eyes flickered back and forth erratically, and then he saw it: a large container filled with the stuff, its reflection dappling as leaves on the floor from the cast of the overhead lights. "WATER! OH SWEET, SACRED WATER! COME TO PAPA!" Now he bolted straight for it, arms and legs pumping, his fiery aura trailing at his back like a second shadow and embers dropping to the floor in a shower of ash.

Hammer whirled around, alarm etched on her face. "Wait, Kael'thas, that ain't—!"

"KAEL'THAS!" Jaina shouted. She slammed right into a Hammer variant tank and, leaning forward, reached out to him in vain. "KAEL'THAS, NOOOO!"

Li-Ming skidded to a halt and snatched Jaina by the collar of her cloak. "You idiot! What are you doing?! Move, move—!"

Sylvanas took one look inside the garage. Her ears flattened. "Oh, for the love of—"

Kael'thas dunked his arms into the container, his blackened smile stretching and crinkling his face like a caricature inspired by nightmares.

The garage exploded.

* * *

"Well," Morales began, browsing through the data on the clipboard one last time, "after several dozen reconstructive surgeries, physical therapy, psychotherapy sessions, and trips to the Hero League's administrative offices, the Church of the In-Between, the First Bank of the Nexus, the bounty board at the Rocks plaza, the _Spear of Adun_ 's engineering bay, and all the hardware stores, taverns, and landfills in Jeetilopolis, I can say that all of you—myself included—are deemed to be in good health!" She looked up, smiling, at the Heroes crowded together on the bench against the wall. Like most of the rooms in the hospital, only the insectile susurrus of the machinery and the overhead fluorescent lamps buzzing fended off the usual stark, unnerving silence.

"Not to mention very deep in debt," Jaina added, sighing deplorably.

"Way to go, _KAEL'THAS_ ," Li-Ming sneered, smacking him in the arm with her cast.

"Yeah, man! You just had to go stick yourself in frigging gasoline!" said Hammer, glaring at him through the one good eye not wrapped in bandages. "That wasn't your everyday gasoline. That was my homemade cocktail to split with the rest of my selves!"

"Which explains why the immediate area around the garage and a good portion of the Peddler's Road is under quarantine," Sylvanas grumbled. "Mixing nuclear waste and smelted Khaydarin crystals is such a _brilliant idea_."

"Hey! D'you know how powerful those cores are? My girl's gotta have that extra kick in her guts to whittle 'em down!"

"At the very least, I am no longer on fire," said Kael'thas. "My skin may be a little more orange and my eyes not so green, but it's better than having third-degree burns."

"Is that why you're squinting so much?" Jaina asked.

"Oh, nonsense! I feel positively splendid!" Kael'thas grinned and blinked, only to grimace and squeeze his eyes into slits. "I'll say, I don't remember the room being this blurry the last time I was here. Is that you, Doodle? Here, boy!" He gave his knee a good couple slaps and winced.

"Kael'thas…that's a disposal container," said Li-Ming, deadpanned, "that's full of used needles."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely sure," said Sylvanas, slapping a hand over Li-Ming's mouth. "Go ahead and pet him. He'll _love_ that." She grunted at Jaina elbowing her in the ribs, which prompted the wizard beside her to shove the Banshee Queen's arm away.

"Anyway, I would suggest taking a few days off from scrims and avoid any heavy physical labor until the rest of your injuries heal," said Morales, closing out of the clipboard's program. "As for myself, I'll be waiting for my nanites to replenish to their original numbers; it's a wonder I managed to get all of us up to snuff!"

"What of Doodle?"

"Oh, he's perfectly fine. He's being held over at the animal clinic, if you want to pick him up later."

"I can't believe out of everyone here, only the dog survived!" Hammer exclaimed.

"Well, he _does_ have time-warping abilities," Li-Ming reminded her. "A shame he's just a pup and his power doesn't affect others. Give him a few…years…loops… whatever process makes him age, and I'll warrant he will be on par with the Greater and Lesser Dogs."

"Don't be a fool!" said Sylvanas. "Do you want it to affect someone like Kael'thas, who butchers his own magic on a monthly basis? Look at what messing with the Living Bomb did to him! And you want that insanity to spread like a plague? This is why he's banned all the time in the League's lower tiers! Imagine how disastrous the official tournaments would be, where he isn't!"

Kael'thas nodded sagely. "Indeed. And I am just as surprised as you are that it was not _water_ that would cure my malady but an instigator of fire itself, the very element that which I and many other Sin'dorei are aligned above all others! Why didn't I think of that?"

Hammer stared at him. "Dude, you were on fire. No one in their right mind would wanna douse themselves in more fire."

"This is the Nexus we're talking about," said Li-Ming. "Half the people are never in their right mind." At this everyone murmured in agreement, even Jaina, although she appeared very reluctant to admit it. "I mean, just look at Nova. She's a special kind of special— _oooouuggg_ , Sylvanas, leggo! You're hurting me!" She slammed her eyes shut at the hand crushing her own in a death grip, grinding the bones together. "I-I didn't mean it like that!"

Sylvanas hauled her to her feet. "I suppose I should thank you for your services, Lieutenant. It is only a pity some of that talent had to be wasted on some people." She glared daggers at Kael'thas, who opened his mouth to protest. "Anyway, Li-Ming and I will be going to pick up Doodle. Then we're going for a walk. A nice, long walk through the meadows. Isn't that right, Li-Ming? Of course you do."

"But—!"

"Let's go." She dragged her stumblingly across the room and out the door.

Hammer watched them go. "Now that's a dead girl walking if'n I ever seen one."

"That's Sylvanas for you," Jaina sighed, shaking her head. "Always causing trouble when she feels like it."

"I guess I better increase production on the nanites," said Morales, frowning. "You know, just in case."


	24. Chapter 24

**Title:** That Girl is Something Else  
 **Description:** "There are many people in the Nexus that are special, but Nova is the most special of all. (Or, what happens to Li-Ming after the garage incident)."  
 **Notes1:** Been busy with work, as usual, as well as making time for beta-reading some non-HotS works. If my schedule for next week is to be believed, then I won't have any time for writing other than my lunch breaks and on my days off.  
 **Notes2:** I wasn't planning to do a follow-up to this in the beginning. It's just something that came to fruition over time. Plus, I wanted to see more Sylvanas/Nova/Li-Ming...er, "bonding", I guess? It's a very strange relationship they have. I can only imagine the kind of relationship Sylvanas had with Alleria and Vereesa before the Troll Wars and beyond.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Li-Ming mumbled, forehead kissing the dirt between her splayed hands.

Sylvanas pressed the heel of her boot down on the back of her head, eliciting a muffled grunt. "Louder, dammit!"

"I said, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what?"

Li-Ming said some strange, incoherent words.

"What was that?!"

The wizard pushed up with all her strength and threw the Banshee Queen's weight off her, spitting out dirt. "For calling you 'a special kind of special'! I didn't mean to _insult you_. Please forgive me for my _harmless transgression_." She glared at Sylvanas over her shoulder. Sylvanas bared her fangs.

Nova blinked. "Huh? That's all?"

"What do you mean, that's all?" Sylvanas asked. "She didn't sound very generous when she said it!"

"That's how I always sound!"

"You're going to sound a lot different if you keep acting like a total diva!" Sylvanas smacked a fist into an open palm.

"Now just because I said half the people aren't in their right mind doesn't mean I was insinuating in the slightest that Nova was part of that statistic!"

"'Course not," said Nova. "I still have my faculties in order. The Board wouldn't have me be in the Hero League otherwise. But hey, I can take a compliment. 'A special kind of special'? That's not something you hear every day." She reached into the bag she was holding, withdrew a veggie crisp, tossed it in her mouth and chewed. "Maybe I'll commission Gazlowe to make a medal. With a piece of glass in the middle. Never know when I might get petrified; have you ever taken a good look at Illidan's eyes?"

"Nova," Sylvanas said as patiently as she could, "he's a demon hunter, not a gorgon. And he's _blind_ —sort of. I suppose in that addled brain of his we all look like demons."

Nova blinked again. "Is that what the blindfold's for? Wow, talk about being misinformed."

"Let me guess," said Li-Ming. "You heard it from the church-goers, didn't you? Say, the In-Betweeners? Or the Illuminated?"

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Because they're Nexian churches, Nova. They're no different than the ones we have in our own sectors. Some may be honest, but let's face it, there are going to be institutions that'll use any means necessary to bring in 'followers'. Your so-called charities, the cult-like sermons, the purification rituals where they smack your ass with a wooden paddle when they think you're giving in to the whispers of the Shadowlands but at the same time is used as some sort of 'punishment' round for their drinking games, the Bingo Thursdays—"

"I should have made the sensible decision to step in and stop you at the paddle part," Sylvanas said, "but what does bingo have to do with the churches spreading hyperbole?"

"Have you been to their fundraisers? Of course you haven't, but I'm just saying. It gets intense. _Really_ intense. Sometimes the prizes aren't even prizes. I hear they put arcane circles under your seats so if you fill a row you might get electrocuted, or if time's running out on a round and you're at the bottom tier of the scoreboard the runes will light up and start setting your chair on fire. I think they're rubberized and element-resistant, though.

"That's great, but are they more intense than the shenanigans that go on in Jeetilopolis?" Nova asked. "Those guys are always in the news! Like, you don't even need the gang wars, the illegal street races, and the underground cockfights to put your name on the map. All it takes…is a single rocket-powered robo-chicken to explode in mid-flight while it's delivering telegrams…and you're in. Want one?" She held the bag of crisps out. Li-Ming reached over and took a carrot-colored cylinder.

"You can so much as breathe and you'll be the talk of the town," Sylvanas sniffed.

"Yes, there is that," said Li-Ming, chewing. "Oh, these are _good_. Let me have some more."

"Have at it." Nova pulled a corn yellow tube and extended her arm. Li-Ming dug in and withdrew a handful of crisps. "You want some, Sylvanas?"

"Are there any mana-flavored?" Not that Sylvanas was ever hungry, but waking up in the Hall always brought a phantom sensation of acquiring sustenance and rest.

Nova turned the bag around and read the label. "Aw shucks, I guess it doesn't. Come with me to the gas station later. I have to restock my pantry, anyway; Hammer keeps burning the hell outta the vegetable oil."

"I have to go pick up Doodle from the clinic."

"Hey, we can do that, too. I'm sure he misses you."

"I guess." Sylvanas shrugged. "I suppose I'll pick up some dog food along the way before it gets too late. You'll have to do the paying, though. I have," she sighed, scowling, "payments to make for the next…I don't know, several months to a few years, depending on the pace I go at. Damn Kael'thas. Come on." She waved for Nova to follow.

"Wait!" Li-Ming called out. "Aren't you going to kill me?"

Sylvanas looked back. "Kill you?"

"Yes! That's your usual shtick, is it not? You pretty much put it out there earlier: by taking me into the meadows on a nice, long walk, where no one can hear nor possibly see the aftermath of my seemingly criminal actions. Shouldn't that be the next step in your plan? Because you were one minute away from bodily separating my neck from my head with your foot and now you're…well, you're uncharacteristically…mellow." Li-Ming raised her hands palm-up. "What gives?"

"That was my original intention. Then Nova happened." Sylvanas appraised her, eyebrow raised, as though the Ghost was an unfinished science project. "You're not worth the trouble, on top of being too predictable."

"I'm a pro at diverting expectations!" Nova exclaimed proudly.

Sylvanas patted her on the shoulder, looking tired and somewhat commiserative. "So you are. You keep on doing that, I'll keep doing mine, and…I guess Li-Ming will do whatever Li-Ming does best."

"And disappointment's not one of them!" Li-Ming pelted after them and slung her arms around their necks when she caught up. She rallied them forward while ignoring the startled squawk blaring out of Sylvanas's mouth. "I am going to be right one of these days, and when it happens you will not feel the slightest sense of smug satisfaction! Count on it!"

Nova blew her lips and grinned, casually tossed the arm away. "Yeah, as if."

"I mean it, Nova! I mean every word I say! It may not happen today, it may not happen tomorrow, but by Light, Dark, and In-Between, it's going to happen someday! Any day, really! It is all a matter of chance and circumstance! Perhaps even providence!"

"It may not even happen."

"It will! It will. I guarantee it! May Isendra's ghost strike me down if I am wrong, it will!"

Sylvanas blew out a breath and rolled her eyes. "Kids these days," she grumbled, and waited for Isendra to smite Li-Ming from the heavens.


	25. Chapter 25

**Title:** Hub-Mart  
 **Description:** "After making a rocky introduction in the Nexus, Dehaka looks for essence in a safer, more legal manner: by shopping at Hub-Mart."  
 **Notes1:** Credit goes to Consort for giving me the idea via review. I actually work at Wal-Mart as a cashier, so I based my experiences there for inspiration. The door greeter is based off a fellow coworker I know well, written in a way as to how he might react in such a situation.  
 **Notes2:** Work is also good for when I can write in my little notepad during down periods, and in the past week I have managed to plan out the next thirty-six chapters, one of which is a timeline (i.e. transmission chapter) that will mark the fiftieth chapter. Sadly, I do not think I'll be able to get some writing done as I am working throughout the weekend and this coming Monday. Long hours are quite the drag.  
 **Notes3:** The worldbuilding seems to have garnered a bit of positive reception, so I intend to branch out with spinoffs that contain a more linear structure in the near future. I also plan to have more non-Blizzard characters show up (we already have the dogs from Undertale) and interact with the people of the Nexus. Their lore will be fleshed out after the timeline chapter and beyond.

* * *

"Where is essence?" Dehaka growled at the door greeter.

The elderly gent turned around and jumped upon seeing the hunchbacked creature blinking up at him. For a moment he stared at the primal Zerg—took in the reptilian shape of his yellow eyes, the thatch of black hair dangling from his chin, the overly large left arm with its equally overly long nails, and the serpentine tail whose barbed tip scraped a long, jagged line along the concrete floor. The greeter was not a stranger when it came to dealing with non-humanoid races, but the latest additions to the Hero League that weren't human always took him some time to adjust and accept that this was and always would be the norm in the Nexus. At least this one brought to mind the image of a cross between a Velociraptor and a Tyrannosaurus Rex shrunk down to the size of a large dog; it was much easier to handle than seeing the Broodmother, whose body rippled with unborn banelings ready to be dispensed and launched at cannon towers and buildings. Just the thought of her made him feel ill.

"Where is essence?" Dehaka repeated patiently.

It broke the spell, and the door greeter hastily gathered his wits and smiled. "Essence, you say?"

"Yes. Where can I find essence?"

"Have you tried looking at the personal care section, down by the pharmacy?"

Dehaka stretched out his neck and peered around the greeter down the aisle. Customers were milling about with shopping carts filled to varying degrees or carried by household androids, whose builds ranged from startlingly human and lifelike to geometric and robotic. He studied the holographic signs flickering just below the ceiling. PHARMACEUTICALS, said one. PERSONAL CARE, said another. COSMETICS, blared the screen behind it, and LAWN AND GARDEN whispered at the very back. He leaned back and narrowed his eyes. "I am not looking for shampoo. It is not that kind of essence. It does not smell like herbs."

"What does this essence look like?" asked the greeter.

"Essence is genetic material carried by all life forms. Does not adhere to the laws of transition. It is always ripe for the taking. An infinite resource."

The greeter shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I, uh…I don't think we have anything like that. Are you sure you're not talking about shampoo?"

"Have no need for shampoo. Evolution keeps me clean. Keeps the skins moist, the scales strong, and the beard silky smooth. _THFTHFTHFTHFTHFTHF._ " Dehaka's tongue rapidly flickered in and out of his mouth. The man caught a brief flash of teeth as pointed as chainsaw blades and felt a chill dash through his bones.

He nodded. "Okay, so it's not like that…but you said it's ripe. Ripe like fruits and vegetables, correct?"

"Always," Dehaka hissed.

"So it can digested."

"Of course."

"So…what about the produce section? Have you had any luck?"

"I have. There is nothing of the sort. Not in jars. Not in bottles. Not in cans, containers, twice-reinforced burlap sacks and rune bags, or vacuum-sealed plastic packages. Not even in a cooler filled with ice."

"No?"

"No."

"And the pharmacy? Do you see the Hero League physicians? An off-site thamaturge, even?"

"I have no need for prescriptions. I take essence if it is necessary to further advance my evolution. I am my own doctor. I study. I cull. I learn. I grow. But I cannot do either if I do not have essence. Serfs guaranteed I could find essence at Hub-Mart. 'They have ev'ry't'in' there, that Hub-Mart. Hub-Mart prices are allus low,' they said. 'Price matches, membership discounts, holiday specials, you allus git low prices at Hub-Mart.' And yet…I see no essence." His brow crinkled—at least, as much as it could, being composed of rough hide and riddled in scales. "I think they lied to me."

"There is more than one Hub-Mart, you know," said the greeter. "There's one in Jeetilopolis, one in the Shadowskirts, two or three in the Principalities, one in Luxoria, one by the Wend…I'm certain that if we don't carry essence here in Hubtown, you might have a better chance at finding it in one of those places."

Dehaka flicked his tongue across his lips. "Maybe," he rumbled, "but Hubtown Hub-Mart is closest to my domain. I have made many tunnels at my convenience: the Loamdeep, the Hall of Storms, the Terran clinic, the town fairgrounds. I am not evolved enough to dig through the fabric of time and space. Not yet."

"I don't know about that," the greeter noted uncertainly. He had heard stories of what happened to Nexians who dabbled with magicks beyond their comprehension and power. It involved tapping into the temporal rifts as part of a grandiose plan whose details only known amongst themselves. Nine out of ten times it was almost always the churchgoers, but sometimes it was some rogue agent from the NIB, a cadre of Realm Knights patrolling the Shadowskirts and the Anchors separating this main slice of the Nexus from the other worlds, or someone foolish and crazy enough to get his or her hands on a spellbook stored away in the Grand Nexus Library or in one of the many ruins peppered throughout the mainland. "I mean, there's no rush, is there? Evolution takes time," he tacked on hurriedly at the scowling, questioning look Dehaka directed at him. "Humans and humanoids are imperfect, but not you. Not the primal Zerg. That's your whole purpose. It wouldn't do to remain the same and not be content."

"Exactly," said Dehaka. "But I still need essence. I have just only been registered with this so-called Hero League, and already I have been punished for doing what it takes to survive. 'You have three options,' the Board told me. 'You can join Hero League and get all the bonuses that came with it. You can look for employment at our offices and, once position and income are secured, search at any of our local Hub-Marts or thamaturges for pressurized or purified essence. Or you can peruse our hunting grounds, but you will be branded a criminal and hunted down by the Realm Knights and the Nexus Animal Welfare Society for all eternity, until the Nexus has no more need for you.'" The muscles in his body flexed and coiled displeasingly at the memory. "I will not be remembered as a criminal. I will do what I must, even if that means joining the Hero League."

"The Powers have a reason for drawing in the least expected Heroes into the Nexus. Perhaps it was all part of Their Plan. Their Grand Scheme, so to say."

"That means nothing if I am without essence. I cannot obtain it by fighting unless it is sanctioned. I cannot obtain it by hunting the grounds at night lest I be chased away by your Animal Welfare Society." He glanced down at the custom-tailored rune bag strapped to his chest and exhaled a weary, exasperated sigh. "I cannot believe I have been reduced to…shopping…at a den designed for Terrans."

"Oh get over yourself!" Sylvanas said, approaching the pair from off to the left. In her hands were a couple of cans of dog food. "You know just as well the Society won't needlessly harvest animals for essence. They're _oh-so precious_. They have their _privileges_. Their lives _matter_." She scoffed loudly. "Please! Animal lives matter in the digestive tract! Anyway, you'll be lucky if you can find even a drop of the stuff in the Shire."

"Or hunt," said Dehaka.

Sylvanas nodded. "Or hunt. It is your best option."

"My only option, until all the paperwork is finalized."

"It must be troublesome."

"It is very troublesome." Dehaka sighed again, reached up with a hind leg and scratched his flank. "I guess I will look elsewhere. Somewhere the Society is not so prominent. I thank you, Terran. I will take your information to heart and, hrrrrrm, prowl those other Hub-Marts at my own time."

The door greeter laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, you're very welcome! And welcome to the Nexus! We hope you'll be able to have a good time here! It's not such a bad place."

"We shall see."

"Truer words were never spoken," said Sylvanas.

"Sylvanas!" Nova called from behind them. She came to a stop, seated in a hovering motorized shopping cart whose bottom was filled with scattered canned goods and bagged produce. "Man, was that all you got? Doodle's gonna need more than that."

Sylvanas frowned, shrugging. "I don't know what he likes. I don't do dog training or dog feeding or even dog caring. I just grabbed what I thought he might like best." She showed them the cans: pork and cheese, ground beef in a savory gravy sauce, and veggies mixed with white rice.

"But now you do, and a time-warping dog needs plenty of sustenance if he wants to grow up and big strong like the rest of his brethren! Get him once of each flavor; it's not like we're short on money or anything."

Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder, back the way she had come. "Really?"

"Hey, don't sweat it! I can get us both there in no time!"

"Ma'am, it's a one-seater," said the door greeter, scrutinizing the shopping cart. "Unless…." He stopped and blinked. "Wait, you can't use them like that!"

Nova grinned. "There's nothing in the rules that says I can't."

Sylvanas glared. "Nova, don't you _dare_."

"Come on! You know you want to."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do!"

"No, I _don't_."

"Come on. _Come on!_ "

"Nova, I swear to Darkness, if you so much as put that thing into drive and plow into me—"

"Gonna have to catch me first!" And with a hard shift of the gear stick, Nova floored the pedal and slammed right into Sylvanas. The Banshee Queen toppled into the basket, the dog food falling from her hands. Her legs stuck up in the air like a woman in labor and she clung to both sides of the

" _NOVA, YOU STUPID GIT!"_

"Beep beep! Coming through! Watch your step!" Nova hollered. She went around Dehaka and the door greeter and sped down the aisle, laying on the horn. Customers and servants shouted and jumped out of the way; one man dropped his bag and leapt aside, rolling into a rack of refried beans that fell to the floor. Everyone watched her go, her laughter and Sylvanas's angry threats trailing in a raucous streamer.

Dehaka cocked his head curiously to one side, then looked at the door greeter. "Is this normal?"

The man grimaced. "Well…let's just say…the transition affects everyone a little differently. Some more than others."

"A lot more," said Dehaka, stroking his beard with his nails. "She is…devolved. How very sad."

"Now I wouldn't say that," the greeter chuckled uneasily.


	26. Chapter 26

**Title:** Hunter "Reasons"  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas and Rexxar stumble upon a treasure trove, specifically a weapon that hasn't been seen in years."  
 **Notes1:** This turned out to be a lot longer than I had expected, but that's part and parcel for wanting to get involved with worldbuilding. I'm surprised managed to get this out quickly, although that might have something to do with the schedule I have been given for this week and next.  
 **Notes2:** Lucario, I know you're only commenting because of Brightwing. Frankly, my opinion of her has soured because of you and I really don't give too much of a shit about her anymore other than playing her to level 10 when I feel like it (which isn't often because I want to accommodate to my team or counter the enemy accordingly); it's kind of hard to do that when a new hero's out every three to four weeks (two, in Zarya's case). Just thinking about bringing her back in the story only serves to remind me that you'll be there for her the instant she's mentioned and not for the enjoyment of reading and nothing more. No, I didn't hate your comment, but you can tell how much of a bitter taste it leaves in my mouth. Go to the HotS subreddit if you want to talk about Brightwing; there's a thread about that scrapped model buried somewhere in the pages. I've said it before, I'll say it again for the LAST TIME: This is a story about Sylvanas, not Brightwing. Get that through your head. This is why I don't really take requests anymore.  
 **Notes3:** And lastly, to all my readers, but to Lucario: Don't even think of arguing in the reviews section, especially in "How Does That Even Work? Among Other Such Things". I lurk around the archives and check the reviews, so don't think your comments go unnoticed. I don't care who you are or what kind of temperament you have. If you so much as carry out your petty squabbles there and not in PMs or whatever the fuck you prefer (as I've been mindlessly repeating for who knows how long), I want you gone. No questions asked. I don't like having to explain my case in these notes (as you should know), but it doesn't leave me any other choice.  
 **Notes4:** Now that I've hopefully gotten my point across (again), beware of slight Legion spoilers for the Marksmanship Hunter artifact acquisition questline if you haven't done it, although this is more of a formality because I'm certain by now everyone knows what happens.  
 **Notes5:** The "611" line isn't a typo. It's the Nexus equivalent of 911 because the letter N is listed on the number 6 on telephone keypad.  
 **Notes6:** Some of the weapon and armor designs mentioned therein are based off drawings of mine that I have done throughout the years, from way back in middle-high school up until a couple months ago. Only one of these, a character sheet, has been uploaded on my DeviantArt page to kind of showcase it, as the rest are hiding in one of my bedroom drawers collecting dust in their folders.  
 **Notes7:** P.S.: I am a "Miss Phoenix", not "Mister".

* * *

No one would have expected the pile of weapons, armors and trinkets housed away in a secret room would cause so much trouble. The Nexus had a way of making a mess of things.

Professor Fardon, a silver-haired, whiskered scarecrow of a man belonging to the esteemed Association of Varied Histories, Timelines, and Universes of the Nexus History Museum, had led the expedition into the ruins of Galadhos once word had reached him that the Border Patrol and the Realm Knights finally cleansed the area of lingering corruption left behind by the Darkness. Very few people in the Association were capable of fighting prowess, so with permission granted by the Board, Fardon hired five Heroes with two express purposes: to sense and track for possible remnants of shadowtaint, and to purify.

From the League, he selected Thrall, Tyrande, and Zeratul. He had to pay a hefty sum for Rexxar's services (he would much rather be alone, he told him, but a little adventure into the wilderness didn't beg to hurt) and managed to just wheedle Sylvanas enough to get her to tag along. He was shocked she agreed so quickly and readily; he wondered earlier if it had anything to do with how…friendly Leoric was being toward her. It was almost as if he was lonely and didn't want her to go.

Or maybe he wanted to use her as a partner for some nefarious scheme of his, like literally raising the dead from the graveyards for the umpteenth time. Or maybe wage war against the Church of Darkness, where the likes of the Lich King, Diablo, and the demons of the Burning Hells congregated.

Yes, that had to be it. The other option, the first option that came to mind…he shuddered. No way in the Anchors!

He put his focus towards the chamber. The Kingdom of Galadhos was an ancient civilization, harking back to a time when the Anchors had not yet fractured and the realms seamlessly conducted trade via the Erewhon Gates. It had also existed in a time when—and he had to remind himself this particular was a matter of particularly heated debate—the first case of the transition was said to have taken place. The truth was lost, and perhaps it would remain lost forevermore. What time did preserve, however, were the racks of double-bladed staves, open crates of battery caches and geothermal clips for guns of all shapes and purposes, and armor more advanced than protoss creation and clashed with today's less streamlined design. There was even a cabinet that, with the firewalls disabled and the password cracked, contained boxes of nanite pills that contained anything that could be molecularly reformatted and decompressed and reformed again upon use.

He didn't have to tell the Heroes to do a clean sweep of the room. Zeratul had a knack for shadows, and once Thrall and Tyrande communed with their respective spirits and gods to purge the shadowtaint he had slipped in, checking for anything they may have missed. Sylvanas ducked in after him, bow knocked and ready, aimed and waiting while Misha the bear snuffled the air and pawed at the ground, blinking curiously. After a few minutes had passed Zeratul returned, uncloaked, and gave the all-clear. Fardon and his crew gathered their gear and stepped inside with the rest of the group.

The trouble began when Rexxar crossed the threshold after everyone else. His jaw unhinged and the eyes behind that peculiar wolf mask of his lost focus and became glazed. A low insectile drone escaped him, followed shortly by a string of drool that spilled down one corner of his lips.

Everyone stopped, turning around or looking over their shoulders. Sylvanas took one glance at him, scoffed, and rolled her eyes. Zeratul cocked his head to one side. "Friend Rexxar, are you alright?" he asked.

"Egads, I think he might be suffering a stroke!" cried Professor Fardon. "We have to take him to the clinic immediately! Quick, someone call 611!"

"No, Professor, I believe this is much worse," said Thrall, who was snapping his fingers right in Rexxar's frozen face. There was no response.

"How can it be worse than a stroke?!"

"Because it's the same look I've seen on the faces of greedy Horde soldiers that think it's a good idea to ambush Darnassus in the middle of the night for spoils," Tyrande sniffed.

"What on earth would make you think greed is synonymous with a serious medical condition?!"

"It's not just greed they're talking about," said Sylvanas. "He's inflicted with what an advanced case of stupid."

"St-Stupid?" Thrall stammered, whirling on her. "Sylvanas, you must understand! This condition…not all hunters are afflict—"

"Just look at him!" Sylvanas waved at Rexxar, who was just now snapping out of his stupor. He was taking some tiny, bumbling steps here, arthritic steps there, arms reaching and hands wandering, caressing, fingering the treasures. "Does that look like the face of common sense to you?"

"He can't help it. He needs to get it out of his system!"

"Which explains why half the special forces were going unarmed on the majority of our raids…all while our hunters wielded weapons they couldn't be assed to pick up off the ground! That's not the kind of pop psychology you give to your people when you have a klepto for a Champion!"

Thrall opened his mouth to speak, Doomhamer raised for emphasis. "And _don't_ say he's a collector!" Sylvanas added, prompting him to snap his jaw shut. "He doesn't even live in Orgrimmar! Where's he going to put all that stuff, anyway?!"

Thrall pursed his lips and flared his nostrils. The grip on the maul whitened. There was a metallic bang, and he cast a worrying look at Rexxar, who was prying open the dented double doors of a cabinet his fists made. Misha squeezed her head between his meaty forearm and peered inside, only to pull back with a gasp as a flood of contents spilled onto the floor. She grunted and stuck her neck out, nudging the butt of what appeared to be a sniper rifle with her snout. Rexxar blindly put a hand out and gently pushed for her to move aside, and when she did he got on his knees and dug through the pile.

Sylvanas sneered. "Like a beggar dumpster diving for scraps of meat. How pathetic."

"We can't have him touching that stuff!" said Fardon, wringing his hands anxiously. "Think of all the millennia of dust and historical data he could be wiping away! Oh, Light, if he mishandles something and accidentally damages it…Ahem!" He cleared his throat loudly. "Master Rexxar, please, I must insist! I understand your…enthusiasm…but by all means rein it in! Who knows what we could uncover?" He went to approach him. Misha spun around and growled, lunging forward and swiping a paw.

Zeratul yanked him back and both felt the rush of air where her claws passed. "Ho there, Professor! It would not be wise to disturb him as he is!"

"But the artifacts—"

"If anyone should touch him, it should be us," said Tyrande. "You are ill-equipped for this kind of situation, and it would not do for you or any of your peers to get injured by a hired hand. Think of the fallout the Board and the Association would have to deal with."

Fardon's shoulders slumped. "No. No, you are right…but be that as it may, I want to minimize the amount of potential damages as much as possible! Spaces knows we can afford to glean a wealth of knowledge from all this." And perhaps, he thought with both hope and great doubt (the latter winning over the former), the Association might strike gold and uncover something about the transition's origins. He sighed. "Right then," he said, and turned to Thrall. "Since you are from a similar sector as Master Rexxar's, Warchief, I believe you can bring the most sense back into him—"

"Hey! What are you talking about over there?" Rexxar snarled. He put his back to the pile and spread his arms out. "It better not be about my loot, you hear? This is mine! But if you're not, then by all means speak up louder so I know you're not plotting against me!"

"Rexxar, we are doing no such thing," said Thrall. "Be at ease, brother."

"You're only my brother if you're not thinking of pulling a fast one on me!"

"And I'm not."

"That's what they all say, Misha," Rexxar told his bear, who craned her neck up at him. "Remember that when you reincarnate into a person." Misha groaned, the sound bouncing off the walls like a bus horn on the open highways.

"Pray tell, Beastmaster, what would you do with these armaments?" Tyrande asked. "We did not bring any compression capsules and carry-on bottles of Hammer-Space with us; this would be too much for you to handle! Surely other people would benefit from this."

"We don't need any of that techno mumbo jumbo! Not when I have Misha to haul them back to the rendezvous point. I did bring bags with me, you know. It's not like I'm running around the Nexus nearly bare naked…and we'll just leave it at that!" He grinned mischievously. "Unless—"

"No no, that's fine," Tyrande said, holding up her hands. "That's…That's fine." She cast a pleading look at Sylvanas.

Sylvanas heaved a silent, world-weary sigh. _Really?_ But she swallowed back the instant rebuttal and straightened her back, squared her shoulders, flexed her ears up and ramrod: the bearings of a leader truer than an elf who failed at Basic Strategy 101 and an orc who failed at Going Through Tough Times With Bigger, Meaner Orcs and Rational Decisions Overall. "You can't take any of this stuff. They belonged to the Association the minute we revealed the wards, dispelled them, and overrode the codes on the door. Besides, you already have your axes, your crossbow, and your…ahem, loyal friend." Misha chuffed, glared up at her challengingly; she didn't back down when Sylvanas flicked her eyes on her. "What more do you want?"

"Everything," he rumbled.

Sylvanas shrugged. "You'll have to take it up with the Board and the Association."

"I'm pretty sure there are some loopholes I can jump through. The rules don't state I can't use, say, Terran armor or a tank, the Worldstone, or even sacrificial blood magic."

"This is true, but it's their word against yours. Besides, take a good look; most of these designs clash with your big, beefy, mountain man image. What use would you have with nanotechnology? What about chronomancy? Not even the Realm Knights have the means to control space and time let alone a lesser rift, so what makes you think you'd gain anything out of it?"

"Who says I'm going to dabble in any of that? I just need them!"

"For what?"

"For, uh, hunter reasons!"

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, the hunter reasons. Even if something does not fit on you and does not belong to you because either you were not trained in the specific arts or how to effectively wear it akin to a second skin, you must still have it under the pretense of 'because I said so'. Isn't that right? I didn't forget anything?"

"No, you're right. You are a hunter yourself. Somewhat."

Her ears twitched. "'Somewhat?'"

"If you were a real hunter, you'd take what's yours. Well, if you had any. This is mine." Rexxar swept an arm toward the pile. "I claim this because I'm alive. You're undead and have no stake in it except for that thing. Baby's first edge. You've got down to a T."

Sylvanas curled her upper lip, exposing a row of fangs. "Edge? You call this 'edge'?" She gestured at herself, the chainmail bikini and leather leggings complimenting the cool blue tint of her skin, the shoulderpads fitted with hollowed skulls and falcon feathers, the purple hood etched with Thalassian calligraphy and the stitched, tattered cloak flowing down her back. "This is the Forsaken motif!"

"But if you were a real hunter, you'd have the essentials down. Leather or mail armor made from the skins of your kills, a preferably loyal animal companion to hunt at your side and to provide you with company…and no magic. Nothing, zilch, nada. The magic is here, here, and here." He pointed at his head, his nose, and his heart. Misha grunted, and Rexxar sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Your senses are just as magical if not more so than mine or hers. Any of these folk, really. Let's get real, not even the priestess sees herself a hunter. Am I right?" He regarded Tyrande quizzically.

"In the beginning I was—"

"In the beginning. Not anymore. It's all about punishing in the name of the moon, Elune, the Naaru, whatever you magical girls spout about these days. I hear performing your duties in the name of love and becoming the devil is all the rage."

"My goddess is not the kind you speak of!" Tyrande exclaimed, burning with embarrassment and indignation. "She is certainly not a Naaru and I am certainly not a Japanese schoolgirl! Well," she added, scratching her cheek, "perhaps there is a possible variant who is indeed such a person, but as I am now, first and foremost, I am officially designated the Chosen Priestess of Elune. I leave the magical girl business to the girls themselves; I am well past that age, anyway!"

"You're a priestess who wields a bow. You pray to your goddess, who may or may not be the moon itself, and use Her powers. Oh, and you're a woman. Good looking one at that, I might say." Rexxar breathed deeply through his nostrils, held it, let it out slowly. "Magical girl," he enunciated. "Woman, what-have-you. An angel in white, not yet a devil."

Zeratul raised his brows. "I am afraid I do not understand."

"Wonderful poetry in action," Sylvanas deadpanned. "But back to our point: You're a real hunter because the weapons and armor have to compliment your image. Is that not so, Professor?"

Fardon blinked, taken aback that he was addressed. "Why, uh, yes, that is usually the case. It is as you said: you are a hunter, a dark ranger, because of your 'motif'. Lady Tyrande is both hunter and priestess as befits her cause, as is also the case for Masters Thrall and Zeratul. An image must be reworked if you accept something outside your norm and make it into your own without drastically changing not only your ideals but your outward appearance."

"As it should be. None of these things, Rexxar, would suit you."

"Of course they would! With a little elbow grease, leatherworking, and some Jeetilopolis ingenuity, I can make anything work! Like," Rexxar scurried to the pile, fidgeted, plunged his hand into the pile and yanked out a double-barreled rifle with a scope and a massive, circular magazine protruding underneath the trigger, "like this! Or this!" He tossed the gun aside and pulled a smaller pistol with a single barrel and what appeared to be battery cells in place of the slide.

"That's something a goblin or gnome might use."

"Who says it has to be just guns? You can dual wield! Gun and hammer!" A maul with a rectangular head. "Gun and sword!" A sawblade that whirred at the press of a switch on the pommel. "What about gun and axe? You don't see those every day, now do you?!" With a bit of effort he hauled a double-headed axe emblazoned in glyphs, half of which were rendered indecipherable by the numerous nicks, notches, and splotches of rust and congealed shadowtaint.

The slit of an eye peered open, glared at the assemblage one by one, and a voice as low and fathomless as the seas of aether sustaining the Anchors announced: "AT LONG LAST…I, ATARAXAS, HAVE BEEN REBORN! DO NOT MISTAKE MY CURRENT FORM AS A SIGN OF WEAKNESS, IMMORTALS. THE HEART AND SOUL OF THIS HEATHEN WILL PROVE MALLEABLE TO MY CAUSE—"

"Meh, not interested," said Rexxar, and carelessly tossed the axe over his shoulder. As hard as he could, right into the cabinet; the force of its impact caused the doors to slam shut and reactivate the antivirus start-up process.

Ataraxas howled in muffled rage. "UNLEASH ME AT ONCE! I WILL BE DENIED NO LONGER!"

"That's great," the Beastmaster replied offhandedly, and then regarded Sylvanas once more. She stared back disinterestedly. "Still not convinced, huh? That's fine; you don't have to be a Hero of strength, skill, and will. Sometimes just skill is all you need. Something basic. Something…earthly. Innermost. All that good Zen stuff. Like, er," he studied the pile again, "you can take something like this, see," he pulled forth a green and gold longbow, "and make it your own. Synthesize it, empower it, attune it, bless it, curse it. Weapons, armor, they're an extension of your body, your self. Without them, you are incomplete. You are—"

"A goddamn idiot, for one. You are speaking to the Banshee Queen, not a common foot-soldier! And I have more years under my belt than before your grandfather was considered a thought in the circle of life! Know your place, you—Wait a minute." She paused, taking a good look at the longbow. "That's…That's Thas'dorah!"

"'That's Dora'?" Rexxar repeated, studying the weapon. "Isn't she that little girl with the talking map—"

" _Thas'dorah_ , mongrel, not Dora the Explorer!" Sylvanas stamped her foot and gesticulated wildly, grabbing the outer curve with both hands. "This is my sister Alleria's! The Windrunner family's legacy! What is it doing in the Nexus?!"

Rexxar shrugged. "Hell if I know."

"However it came to be in Galadhos, I sense a great power emanating from within," said Tyrande.

Zeratul nodded. "Indeed. It has been beyond worlds. Strange that it has not been touched by the shadowtaint."

"That, my good friend, would be a testament to its resilience!" exclaimed Fardon. "Who knows how long Thas'dorah has been locked away in these ruins, untouched by corruption? Perhaps with Lady Sylvanas' blessing," he approached gently, "it would be possible to study it?"

" _Not a chance_ ," she snarled, whipping her head around at him. He squeaked and backed away from her, right into Thrall.

The Warchief eased him aside. "This is great news, Sylvanas! Seeing your sister's weapon here must mean that she is out there somewhere in the Twisting Nether. She might even be in the Nexus thereabouts."

"Yes, as a long forgotten corpse comprised solely of bones." Sylvanas scoffed. "Sever your hopes. It's been twenty-five years."

"Even if that is so, this may be all that remains of her. You should hold onto it."

"I don't need to be told twice. No one is going to lay their hands on it unless I give my express permission, and before that they must prove to me they are worth their salt, their pepper, and their garlic they can carry the weight of the Windrunners upon their backs! That especially goes for you, _Beastmaster_ ," she sneered at Rexxar. "There's hardly a Windrunner that walked Eversong with Thas'dorah and was accompanied by an animal."

"There's always a first," said Rexxar.

"It won't be you, and it certainly won't be Mishka and that quilen of hers." _And no matter how much of that nonsense she spouts,_ Sylvanas thought, _she will never find Alleria. Her hopes are all in vain._ "Now, if you would be so kind, Beastmaster, _let go_." She hissed, and tugged Thas'dorah toward her.

Rexxar's eyes widened behind his mask, and then he tugged back. "Hands off, sister! Finders keepers, loser's weepers!"

She made a scandalized sound, pulled harder. "You dare!"

"Yes, I dare!"

"You son of a bitch!"

"That phrase is a badge of pride, woman! I wear it like so!"

"You don't have much to wear to begin with!"

"You're no better!"

"Rexxar, let go!" Thrall called, and made to rush forward. Misha got on her hind legs and roared at him, causing him to back down. There were startled shouts from the crew behind him. "Please, brother! That is not yours!"

"This stuff is mine!" Rexxar announced. "ALL MINE, and you're not going to get a single cent out of it!"

"But the historical value!" Fardon began, pleading.

"Fight me for it if you want it so damn much! C'mere, old man! Surely you still have some spring left over!" He glared at them, and Fardon stumbled and retreated into the huddled safety of his men and women. "That's what I thought!"

"Last time, thief," Sylvanas warned, voice soft and dangerous, "Let go, or by all the Pits in Darkness I am going to paint these flagstones red with your blood and decorate the Shire with your bear's intestines!"

Rexxar leaned his face right into Sylvanas', the feverlight in his eyes shining mad and greedy. The edges of his mouth crinkled as he grinned, and when he opened his mouth she could smell meat on his breath. "Never!" He smiled widely at the fury pulsing in her own gaze.

Off to the side, Tyrande's ears twitched. A sensation not unlike a hand bracing her shoulder probed the back of her mind. "Zeratul, do you feel that?" she asked, bringing her bow to bear.

He studied their surroundings. In the cracks of the floor, along the nooks and niches in the walls, and even seeping through from the secured cabinet, dark vaporous smoke emerged, bubbled, spread like spilled oil in creeping rivulets, then streams, and now growing into deep, thick, serpentine lines. He activated his warp blade. "Everyone, fall back!" he told the crew. "Darkness gathers!"

Their reactions were frightful and instant. "Corruption!" "Malevolence!" "Run, before it taints us!" "Peace before violence! Don't let it take us!"

"By the Spaces! Would you look at that! Thas'dorah's glowing!" said Fardon, and so they saw that indeed it was. Between the tug of war Sylvanas and Rexxar were engaged in, the longbow had taken on an eerie magenta sheen that peered beneath their hands and bloomed like a star and covered it in its entirety. Neither realized the vibrations starting to rattle in their grasps.

"What…What is that?" Thrall asked.

"Astounding! G-Get your camcorder out, Clarke!" Fardon waved for the man to hurry up. "What we're seeing is the unraveling of space-time itself! A lesser rift, created by forces more potent than the Powers, more cosmic and unyielding beyond our comprehension! Why, for all our knowledge, it could be formed from thoughts and feelings breaching throughout dimensions, searching for Thas'dorah, calling for it, just like telepathy—!"

There was a sudden, muffled _boom_ , as though a bomb had gone off, and an unearthly, windy screech rose with startling speed and crescendo. It rent the air, shook it senseless. It may have come from the rift. It may have come from the shadowtaint. Whatever it was, it caused Thas'dorah to rip itself free from both Banshee Queen and Beastmaster, and they watched as it flipped end over end toward an inverted, spiraling mass of folded aether taking up part of the wall.

Then it entered the rift, and in seconds it spun itself in a counterclockwise motion and closed upon itself. Where the portion of the wall had been slowly reformed itself from the aether, molecule by molecule, recreating every bump and chipping, scratch and weathering as it had appeared beforehand, before the taint and after upon cleansing. It was as though it had never been touched.

The shadowtaint paused, simmering.

Damning silence hung, everyone, including Misha, staring at the wall. Even Ataraxas had gone quiet in his protests.

No one moved. The camcorder struggled to stay aloft in the air in Clarke's hands.

Sylvanas spun on Rexxar, stunned and horrified.

He shrugged. "As I was saying, finders keepers. You shoulda just let go and, you know, let bygones be bygones. By the way, you're still not taking any of my stuff—"

Sylvanas screamed—a long, piercing, bloodcurdling scream that shook the walls and the floor. Thrall and Tyrande and Fardon and his crew cringed and covered their ears, some falling to their knees or collapsing, trying to block out the pain. Misha moaned and Zeratul squeezed his eyes shut. "YOU BASTARD!" She dropped her bow and reached for her dagger. _"YOU BASTARD, YOU BASTARD, YOU BASTARD!"_ In one fluid motion she drew it forth and lunged at Rexxar. He managed to let out an avian croak before she was on top of him and had him on his back, the blade buried between his eyes.

Then again. And again, and again. "THAT WAS MINE! MINE! MINE! MINE! WHERE IS IT NOW, ASSHOLE? _WHERE. IS. IT. NOW?!_ " Blood splashed against her face and hands, but she did not relent. Sylvanas kept on going.

The shadowtaint erupted, and the speed of its advance ramped up, covering everything in black and brown rot. Between the blood roaring in her ears, what sounded like Thrall yelling ("We have to leave! NOW!"), Fardon complaining ("The artifacts!" he wailed), Zeratul ushering for Misha to follow him ("Your master will be…alright. We'll meet him at the Halls!") and Tyrande making an exasperated sound ("Elune help us, and Elune help you, Sylvanas!" she sighed), Ataraxas cackled. "YES! YES! GIVE ME MORE! _GIVE ME MORE!_ IT MATTERS NOT HOW FAR YOU FLEE OR HOW MUCH YOU BOTTLE IT UP— _IN THE END, WE WILL NEVER HAVE ENOUGH!_ "

* * *

 _Somewhere, in another time and place, on Niskara…._

Herald Xarbizuld was in trouble. The doomguard paced back and forth, considering the situation. The elf was gone, wounded though she was. There were furrows in the dirt that were crusting over in fel energy as a result of the Light the soldiers had used. The bodies of his fellow compatriots—scores of imps, felstalkers, a pair of infernals, and a trio of inquisitors—were just now finishing up disintegrating into the Nether to reform, although with this much fel in the vacuum they would return in no time to fortify their defenses…not to mention endure a thorough thrashing from their superiors.

The next best course of action would be to make the announcement for any able-bodied demon to step forward and board a ship…that is, as he now recalled, if there were any left in the docks; if there wasn't a ship on standby on Argus or pulling back from the ruins of Nathreza, then they would all be congregating above Azeroth near Thal'dranath. A shame that their initial offensive strikes around the world were suppressed. It was just as well they were able to latch onto the Temple of Elune and eke their influence across the rest of the Broken Isles. Soon, he thought. The Alliance, the Horde, the Archmage in his floating city, the Nightfallen, the Wardens, the Highmountain tauren and the Dreamweavers and the Valarjar, anyone that opposed them, their numbers were finite. They could not stand against the Burning Legion forever. Not even their sacred artifacts would be able to withstand the might of their foul magicks and countless numbers.

So it came as quite the literal shock when a thunderbolt slammed right where he had stood, knocking him flat on his tail. His head bounced against the ground, and for a while he lay there stunned and confused. When he regained his bearings and stopped seeing double, Xarbizuld shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears and gently picked himself up with a flap of his wings. "Argh! What was that?" He was absently aware that he should have expressed more concern at the possibility that some brave fool from the Grand Army of Light wanted to sneak in one last ambush, but there was nary a stench or presence of Holy power radiating around him. Would it not make sense to eliminate him while he was alone and vulnerable?

His question was answered when he beheld the elvish longbow lying in the bowl of a small, smoldering crater. Carved from wood the color of gold and inlaid with emerald stones, its string drawn taut to a fine, invisible line. He recognized it for what it was.

Cautiously, he approached it. Bent his knees and extended an arm, hesitating for the briefest of moments before quickly closing his massive hand around the riser.

He had expected it to burst into flames and consume him whole, leaving nothing but ash. He had expected the Light to suddenly burst through every pore and orifice until he exploded and there was not so much as a shred of consciousness to will himself back to life.

Nothing of the sort happened. It remained a longbow, bereft of its power save for a lingering, sulfuric stench of raw arcane energy.

Xarbizuld brought it up to his face and sniffed in deeply. Held the breath in for a beat and exhaled.

He grinned, and the seeds of a plan began to germinate.


	27. Chapter 27

**Title:** Everything is Better With...  
 **Description:** "Someone had the bright idea of putting women's hosiery on all the beasts and mechanisms in the stables. Valla, to say the least, is not amused."  
 **Notes1:** So...this particular chapter was inspired by seeing a picture on Facebook of a Samoyed dog wearing black pantyhose. The few friends I have post some pretty stupid stuff on there (their stance on advocating weed legalization notwithstanding), but I thought it ridiculous in a _"Oh man, I just have write something about THIS"_ sort of way.  
 **Notes2:** I overestimated my belief that everyone would have played through Legion and understood the ending in the last chapter, so I do apologize for that. It's pretty much my bizarre interpretation of how Thas'dorah wound up on Niskara and the boss in the area coming up with the plan that he could use the bow to lure Alleria back from...wherever the hell she's at in canon. It certainly isn't AU!Draenor.  
 **Notes3:** What was with all the hits on my website on Friday night? It might be because of my restructuring the profile a bit, but holy crap, I came home from work and saw how big that blue bar was. It must be you fine folks wondering when the new chapter's going to be. Speaking of which: Some of you have been asking about Alarak, and while I can't see what the appeal of that guy is (because I'm exclusively a WoW player; and other than I keep reading he's just a brutally honest troll, although HotS made him into a bigger asshole) I decided that the next chapter will feature him.  
 **Notes4:** I am honestly surprised no one's brought up the mention of HAMMER-SPACE in the last chapter. You guys talk about Hammer possibly using vegetable oil in her engines to make deep fried foods but not that? Come on now. You guys can do better than that.  
 **Notes5:** And lastly, to Lucario, because I know you're reading this: If you can't rein the Brightwing BS in for the sake of this story (and the sanity of my readers, as even they seem discontent with how you're going on and on about...you get the idea), then yes, I think it'd be in everyone's best interests if you went elsewhere. That's all I'm saying on this matter. I don't want _First Impressions_ to be remembered for this if it should wind up on TVTropes or somebody's fanfic recommendation page, but the damage has already been done. Well, at least the one good thing you've taught me is that if I ever became a famous author (although niche, given my particular tastes), I'll have some firsthand experience in how to deal with...zealous...fans.

* * *

"What is this?" Valla asked out loud, and she broke into a run toward the stable. Sylvanas tagged behind her, brows arched curiously but otherwise moving unhurriedly. She watched as the other woman stopped by the fences where the battle beasts grazed, then rushed over to the watering hole that Ringmaster Greymane's lion was currently drinking from. She pelted over to the corral the horses and the more exotic animals tended to roam and graze, then scrambled over to the smaller building adjacent to the barn where the mechanical constructs were housed in their charging stations. She jabbed in the code on the keypad, pressed her fingertips against the pad serving as a biometric pad and placed her eyes up close for the AI to scan, and leaned inside when the door slid aside. She _jumped_ , a quaking shudder that slithered from the raised hilltops of her shoulders to the wing-spanning of her legs, and she leaned further in for a better look. A minute later Valla hauled out of there, making for the barn.

When Sylvanas caught up with her, the demon hunter had unlatched the bolt and pushed both doors open. Their shadows stretched across the ground like dominoes on a desk backlit by the light of the lamp.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Her shout bounced off the walls, surprising most of the veterinarians and their assistants from deep contemplation and work-induced stupors. "What is going on? What is…How…Why is everything…?!" She stumbled inside, glancing here and there at a horse or wolf. Her face was stricken, white and big as a cheese-colored moon.

"Lady Valla, thank Cernunnos you are here!" said a physician, who pushed and stumbled his way through his clustered colleagues. He managed to plow right into her, although he stopped them both from falling and righted himself, brushing off his coat. "We…We don't know! We were taking our lunch break and had the AI and helper units tend to the animals, and when we came back they…You know!"

"I want to know who did this!" Valla clapped down hard on the man's shoulders and rammed her face up to his. Her teeth were bared in a vicious snarl, and he tried to rear back as far as the vice grip allowed him to go. "I want to know who thought it was a good idea to put _goddamn fishnet stockings on every single animal and construct!_ "

Sylvanas sighed. "You fools are so incompetent. Obviously someone decided to be cute and reprogrammed the command protocols on either one or, more likely, all the units before the lunch bell sounded. Perhaps this person must have done so last night, having taken guard duty where they could have plenty of time to sort through everything. It might not even be the case at all. Maybe the units just felt like messing with their fleshy, weak, immortal overlords." She pulled a passing, hovering droid aside and dragged it to the ground with her as she got down on her haunches.

"Error: Pathing protocol has been obstructed," it intoned in a soft, mechanical contralto. "Please remove any and all objects to continue."

"Shut up," she said, offhandedly. "Requesting nanorite engine deactivation, code-A23F6."

"Request confirmed. Deactivating nanorite engine." The nigh audible thrumming of its paneled underbelly subsided, and with Sylvanas' guidance gently leaned up against the wall.

"Activate sleep mode." She reached behind her and withdrew an arrow from her quiver, flipped it around so she held it just below the arrowhead. Placing the tip against its cylindrical chest, she pried the panel open and, reaching inside, unwound the disc-shaped keyboard from its confines.

"Sleep mode activated," said the robot, and the digital red orb in its ocular visor became a flattened hyphen and turned a soothing, quiet blue.

"Good robot," she mumbled, flexed her hands (being mindful not to pop her knuckles again), and set to work. A smaller, rectangular slot above the keyboard opened and activated a teal holographic screen.

"You had best be quick about it," Valla warned Sylvanas, right over her shoulder, "because as soon as you discover who's behind this travesty I'm going to…going to….!"

" _Keep your panties on._ Goddamn, woman, it's just fishnet stockings. It's not like someone poisoned the water hole and food supplies, or dressed them up in Hallow's Eve costumes and teepee'd the whole place."

" _Don't_ give them ideas!" the technician exclaimed, horrified. "They could still be here, just listening! It might even be one of us!"

"You better hope it's not!" said an angry voice, and Valla and the man turned and saw Kerrigan standing within the threshold of the barn, her shadow stretching long and dark. Her face was backlit by the sun save for stray, intermittent sparks of psychic energy dancing from her eyes.

"Kerrigan!" said Valla. "The culprit got Torra?"

"So they did. Look what they did to him!" She swept her arms behind her where a purple, spiky Ultralisk the size of a large dog stood growling at her side, clacking its scythe-like pinchers. Somehow, through some miraculous and impossible feat, his stumpy legs were garbed in pantyhose (that looked ready to tear) and covered in fishnet. He tried to twist his head around, teeth gnashing, but his neck proved too short to reach. Torra contented itself with lifting a leg and attempting to scratch it off against his thick, scaled hide. "I dropped him off last night to recuperate at the nesting grounds, and when I went to pick him up I get _this_! When I get my hands on the neck of the rat bastard who touched Torra—"

"You'll need to wait in line, I'm afraid," said the tech. "Valla's got dibs."

"We can kill the rat bastard together," said Valla. "You impale him with your blades, and I'll fill him full of holes."

"Or you could pin him against one of the posts at the training grounds and have your shadow beasts and Torra eat him a little at a time," said Sylvanas, ears stirring thoughtfully as she studied the error message. She clicked her tongue, closed out of it, and moved her hand across the screen. "An arm here, a leg there. If you want to go smaller, then take off his hand or foot…or, if you feel particularly voracious, you could always rip out his heart and have him watch them eat it right in front of his eyes before they chop off his head."

"WHERE do you get these ideas?!" the tech asked.

"An assortment of authors both living and unborn, dead and soon to be. Lurk the library more, pleb." Sylvanas raised her head to glare at him, huffed, and ducked back under to resume her work. The man gave her a tight-lipped, affronted look, then shook his head.

"Why use a simple training post when you can peruse an assortment of totems?" said another voice, more gruff and masculine, and Valla and Kerrigan turned to see it was Rehgar padding into the room in ghost wolf form. His gait was awkward.

Their eyes bulged. "Oh dear Lord," Kerrigan sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"They got you, too?!" said Valla, shocked.

Rehgar sniffed, looking none too please. "All I did was take a nap after spending some time out in the Loamdeep training and communing with the spirits, and when I came to…." He trailed off and looked down at himself, Valla and Kerrigan following his gaze. Fishnet stockings stretched across his four lean legs across the lower part of his scruffy chest. "Honestly, ladies and gentleman," he said, regarding the technician, "I'm afraid of what'll happen if I change back." He gasped. "You don't think they'll stay on, do you?"

Sylvanas paused and sat up. She looked Rehgar up and down, studying him. After a beat, she scoffed. "Spare us the mental image."

"I didn't ask for this!" Rehgar barked, hackles rising. "Besides, fishnet would clash with my manly image! I'm an orc shaman who pays respect to my ancestors, not a Westminster sideshow attraction!" He licked his lips. "Bah! Whoever is behind this mess, I want to have a nice little brouhaha with him. Speak to him in words only a man will understand!"

"We were thinking of taking turns on him when we nab the guy," said Kerrigan. "Any ideas you want to toss in on how we should deal with him?"

" _If_ we find him!" said the tech. "He could have access to cloaking technology, just like Nova and Zeratul!"

"Nova's as bright as a dying star and Zeratul has four fingers on each hand," said Sylvanas, closing out a window and scrolling through another. She tapped on a spot two times, ran her finger up, and stopped to read. "He would need some serious surgery if he wants to delicately handle women's lingerie."

"Would he really do that?"

"About as possible as him sneezing like a normal human being."

"He doesn't have a nose. Or a mouth."

"Exactly."

"As I've mentioned, I have a number of totems that I have crafted when I can make the time for them and when I am not needed on the battlefield," Rehgar explained to Valla and Kerrigan. "I only had my Earthgrab totem when I had been pried from the Maelstrom, but that's the kind that slows people down. You're looking for something more…destructive, aren't you? Yes. Yes, I can see that murderous glint in your eyes. I'll bet you can see the same in mine. Maybe I can…alleviate some of this stress we're all feeling."

Sylvanas coughed laughter. "As if! There is nothing here that's holding me down."

"What about Mister Horse?" the tech asked.

"A convenient partnership. He's not even _my_ steed; one of you morons gave him that name. Thrall introduced me to him when I entered the Nexus and he just…what's the word…imprinted on me."

"Wouldn't you say the same about Nova?"

"That's a whole other ballpark I'd rather not play in right now."

"What do you have?" Kerrigan asked Rehgar.

"Right now? I'm only allowed to bring a single totem to the matches, and that's the Earthgrab totem, and I always carry that with me. As for the rest, they are at my den by the Loamdeep. There's the Windfury totem, which can harness the winds so sharp and fine they can cut like blades; you could benefit from that the most, Kerrigan. Or maybe…hmm, something like the Liquid Fury totem, where you can shoot liquid magma from the cracks sprouting deep beneath the earth; I think you would like that, Valla. Or better yet, there is the Lightning Surge totem, in which the very air itself crackles with electricity." Rehgar bared his teeth in a dog-like grin, tail wagging at their brightening expressions. "There are plenty more where that came from! The teleporters have been in working order so far since they were repaired a couple days ago, so we don't need to use my keystone to hotwire the ley line networks for quick access. Also, I haven't heard anything about any of those temporal rifts opening up, so you can…play around…to your heart's content."

Kerrigan ruffled the fur between his ears. "Thattaboy, Rehgar. You know how to win a woman's heart."

Rehgar closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, a look of pure bliss gracing his features. "Of course I do. That is one of the ways of the school of manhood!"

"We'll treat you to dinner tonight," said Valla, stroking his long neck. "How does veiled cutlet sound? Pork shank round? What about a full slab of kodo ribs slathered in slow-simmer hot barbecue sauce?"

"I like the way you think!"

"And this, ladies and gentleman, is how a dark shaman is born," said Sylvanas, sitting back on her haunches to better read the decrypted data. "Garrosh would be proud."

"We're not going to use them for nefarious reasons, woman!" said Rehgar, shaking off the physical adulation to twist his head toward her. "This is justice!"

"Oh yes, let's condone first-degree murder on a guy who felt like tempting fate by playing a prank on not only his fellow colleagues but his customers as well. You could just, you know, tear them off. Oh but that's _right_ ," she added, snapping her fingers. "Common sense is dead in the Nexus. Why chastise the poor shmuck and dock his pay when you can torture him to death?"

"Did you not get a good look at Torra?" said Kerrigan. "If we're going to put armor on an Ultralisk, that dumbass should've come to me, or even Abathur, and ask for permission to work on creating new evolutionary pathways!" Torra rumbled in agreement, stomping its front feet.

"I'll bet if Doodle got pranked, you would speak differently!" said Valla.

"Doodle does what Doodle does. That dog doesn't know when to keep his leash on. You there," Sylvanas gestured to the technician with a nod, "what's your name?"

"Me? Uh, Franklin, ma'am. Franklin Beaumont."

"Well then, Mister Beaumont, I believe I've found your culprit."

Everyone started. "You did?!"

"Who is it?"

"Have at it, Sylvanas!"

"Tell us!"

Sylvanas skimmed through the entry again. She pressed her lips, nodded. "Hmm, yes. It would appear a Mister Jamieson Pierce instructed all the active droids on the night shift to induce the beasts with a sleeping agent and ordered them to shut down the constructs. He got some of his buddies together from the Wine and Pearls tavern at the Wend and had them dress everything and the kitchen sink in fishnet stockings, pantyhose, and," she squinted, "huh, that's…interesting."

"What?! What is it?!" Franklin demanded, almost at hysterics.

Her ears swept downward, reading the sentence one more time. "…Leather chaps."

Franklin balled his hands into fists. "Jamieson! That son of a bitch! I always knew he was a trickster, but for him to go that far…!"

"They're just chaps."

"But they're not bottomless, are they?"

"They're not."

"Then that means the animals can't use their tails! The flies and zerglings would be all over them!"

Sylvanas gave him a long, hard look, one suffused with very little patience. "Mister Beaumont, it's leather. Just take them off. Give them to the tanners. Use the scraps for…I don't know…something. Don't let them go to waste."

"We can't do that! Disposing of that leather would be like putting down a sick beast all over!" Franklin's eyes welled with tears, to which he slammed them shut to stem the tide. "You don't know what it's like!"

Sylvanas' face fell into severe exasperation. "Oh my god." She heaved a long suffering sigh. "Why, oh why, do I get myself involved in these things?"

Kerrigan and Valla exchanged fierce glances. "We need to find him," said the demon hunter.

"Sylvanas, does it say anything about what his last whereabouts are after visiting the Wine and Pearls?" Kerrigan asked. "You know, don't you? Don't just sit there! Read, dammit!" She clapped her hands on Sylvanas' shoulders and leaned forward, pushing her weight on her so that the Banshee Queen's face went through the hologram and rammed up against the droid's body.

Growling, Sylvanas pushed back and sat up. "Get off me! And I've checked three times already! He and his buddies took separate portals across the Shire proper and rendezvoused back at the State of Hubland dorms."

Rehgar hummed. "State of Hubland…that's not far from here, is it?"

"You're looking at a long walk if you go by foot," said Valla. "Maybe an hour out if you decide to take the expressways via transport, but from a port?" She licked her lips and grinned. "From a port, you'll manifest right by the gates. If we can redirect the coordinates so that we're outside the school grounds, away from all that security…."

"I hear Hubland's a big fan of mine," said Kerrigan. "We can pretend we're on a, I don't know, a visit—say we just want to build relations with our sponsors. We can bring Torra, too; they like you, don't they, boy?" She gave the Ultralisk a couple pats on the back. "You can let them pet you and take pictures of you while we slip inside and _introduce ourselves_ to Mister Pierce. Say, maybe they'll even let you be their watchdog for…hmm, how does an hour sound? We want to make sure we show him how Heroes show their _appreciation_." Torra grumbled and cocked his head to one side, looking up at her. "Don't worry. We'll call you when we have everything set up. I'm sure you want in on the action, too."

"Are you sure there's nothing else?" Valla asked Sylvanas.

"This is the last entry, dated last night. The rest is all technical jargon." Sylvanas sighed and closed out the windows, working her way back to the desktop. "Well, it was fun while it lasted. I'll restore this droid's original commands and then be on my way. I have more important matters to attend to than watching two women, a wolfaboo, and a critically bleeding heart go on a manhunt all over the Nexus."

"Who are you calling 'wolfaboo'?!" Rehgar snapped.

Kerrigan rolled her eyes. "Right. Because killing Nova over the most asinine things is more exciting."

"Of course. If I want to kill, I do it right away. I don't waste time like you're doing right now. He could be dicking off in some other realm for all you know."

"Hey, everyone! Sorry I'm late!" hailed a voice, young and hearty and choked with laughter. Everyone, staff and Hero, turned toward the open stable doors where a dark-skinned man in the long white and blue-lined trench coat of the Nexus Animal Welfare Society strolled into view. He was panting and doubled over, hands on knees as he tried to catch his breath. When he did, Jamieson Pierce straightened up, gracing them with a winning, toothy grin. "Oh man, did you guys see all the animals outside? Somebody put hosiery on them! It…Isn't that something? Who woulda thought of that? Boy, we better get to the bottom of this right away!"

His smile diminished slightly but did not falter at the sense of heavy disquiet. "Hey, what's wrong?" He chuckled. "This…This is serious."

"I know somebody's bottom is in serious trouble," Rehgar growled, and flashed his fangs.

"Not just his bottom," said Valla, brandishing her crossbows. "It's everywhere."

"Not even his thoughts will give him comfort," said Kerrigan, and she unfolded her wings. "Torra!" The Ultralisk snarled and opened jaws overflowing with saliva. He roared, clacked his pincers, lowered his head, and charged.

The boyish mirth Jamieson wore collapsed, replaced with a dropped jaw and pure horror. He screamed and ran in the direction he had just come in, nearly tripping over his coattails.

"GET BACK HERE AND FACE YOUR FATE LIKE A MAN!" Rehgar barked, following close behind Torra.

"It was just a joke, I swear!" Jamieson cried, tripping over his feet. He clawed back up and kept running. "I was gonna clean 'em up eventually!"

"Not soon enough!" Valla roared, and the bolt she fired plunged into the tree he had just passed. A trickle of blood spilled from the graze next to the ear and flowed down his neck. Jamieson whined and pumped his legs faster.

"You're demoted, goddammit!" Franklin yelled. "You hear me? DEMOTED! All this is coming out of your paychecks! Oof! Blargh!" He was nearly bowled over by Valla leapfrogging over him, and then as he was about to rise he was knocked flat on his ass by both the blast of air by Kerrigan's wings and the surge of psionic energy emerging from her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't think—" He screamed, and from where Sylvanas sat she heard something akin to a firecracker exploding. It caused the interior lights to rattle and flicker.

Sylvanas was about to reactivate the droid when a series of metallic clangs went off like gunshots. She ground her teeth, biting back the urge to groan. "FLY, MY FRIENDS!" cried the technician that unlocked the gates. "TAKE BACK YOUR DIGNITY!" The Banshee Queen remained where she was, grousing as horses, battle beasts, unicorns, Billie goats, felstalkers, wolves, tigers, cloud serpents, dragons, reindeers, pigs, and a lone treasure goblin stampeded past her in an onrush of wind, dusty clouds and unswept detritus. Neighing, barking, oinking, rumbling, cackling, and bleating made a cacophonous symphony, accompanied by the angry _"RABBLERABBLERABBLE!"_ of the rest of the staff running alongside (or, for some, riding atop) their animal companions.

A minute later, the stables were emptied. A coat of plaster, straw, and grime covered the back of her hood and cloak.

Sylvanas sucked in a breath and blew it out in a long, drawn huff. "Idiots," she said aloud. "I'm surrounded by a world full of idiots, and I'm the only one who still acts like a proper adult." She clicked her tongue. "Right then. Let's get you back in working order, seeing as I am still here," she said this to the inactive droid, and bent toward its chassis.

She was interrupted by a howling, sucking noise and the phantom sensation of many hands tugging her clothes and skin. Ears flickering, she recognized these telltale signs for what they were: a spatial rift opening. She was now long since used to sensing their immediate approach, and while the majority of Nexians were incapable of drawing on the aether, that left only two possible sources: shadowbeasts from the Realm of Darkness—and they would have no interest in inhabiting an area devoid of life to harass, attempt to possess, corrupt, and/or capture someone to convert when there was a Hero who could fight them on equal ground—or—

"Woof woof!" Or a canine bundle of white fluff that could tear through the fabric of space-time as a hobby and a way to reach his newfound master (or her _friends_ , no matter how much she denied it) for treats, head pats, walks, and belly rubs.

Sylvanas sighed. "Hello, Doodle," she said. "I'm a little busy at the moment, but whatever it is you need I will give it to you in just a moment—" She looked at him and paused, for words failed her.

Doodle padded up to her, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth and the little stub of tail a vibrating blur. He stopped before her and brought his chest low to the ground, stretching his front legs. He arched his back and made a pleased grunt.

His lower half was swathed in black fishnet tights.

Sylvanas stared at him, mind blank yet trying to process what she was seeing. She blinked once, twice, and stared more. Doodle stared back, smiling, waiting patiently and expectantly for a word of praise and a pat between the ears.

In the distance, there was a very faint, very primal roar of triumph, and then an explosion like the cork being popped from a bottle of champagne.

Sylvanas looked behind her in that direction and pondered.

Doodle cocked his head to one side.

Sylvanas looked back at him, studying the tights around his midriff. "You don't even notice, do you? How tight that thing looks on you. No?" She sighed. "Come here, Doodle. Let me take that off before I have to start worrying about your blood circulation being cut off this early in our…relationship."

"Woof!"


	28. Chapter 28

**Title:** The Challenge  
 **Description:** "Alarak dares Sylvanas to outdo him as the biggest sadist in the Nexus. There's only one person who can help her with that."  
 **Notes1:** Very late in the making given my work schedule and me pulling a Togashi Yoshihiro in regards to video gaming (although that is, supposedly, not the case with the man himself), so again I'd like to apologize. I had trouble working on the chapter in the beginning, and then again when it came time to include Alarak in the narrative without him coming off as too OOC. Not for the last time, this turned out to be much longer than I wanted it to be, but this may also be the last time I say I'll do a chapter and feel constrained to do it without feeling as though I'm going to break such a promise.  
 **Notes2:** I don't know when I'll get back to _How Does That Even Work?_ , but I still intend to work on it. There are also the rest of the chapter ideas that I have in my little notepad plus the "wedding crash" prompt (whom I believe) Consort sent to me a while back. There have been new ideas I've come up with since that announcement, but none have been taken to be written down for memory.  
 **Notes3:** Sometimes I wonder if Blizzard reads fanfiction. Certainly they are aware of it (going by one of Thrall's poke comments). I was contemplating doing another Winter Veil chapter...and then I saw Gingerdread Nazeebo and Reindeer Lunara in the BlizzCon 2016 In Development video. Oh, the inspiration I can reap from the latter's salty tears.  
 **Notes4:** Yes, I did watch HawkrayTV's "A Stylish Hallow End". It made me wonder which of us plays the better Sylvanas and what level he is with her.  
 **Notes5:** One more thing, and once more it's late in the coming and because I feel it needs to be reiterated: Don't argue in the review sections for _First Impressions_ , _How Does That Even Work?_ , and any other HotS story I post in the future (which I do plan on doing eventually). It's not doing anyone a world of good and I hate having to play babysitter when people should know better. Seeing mudslinging going on in the reviews is the last thing I want to see when I come home from work and check my e-mails.

* * *

"Nova, I need you to do me a favor."

"A…A favor?" Nova parroted, every thought and process in her body freezing to a halt. She had said it out loud and didn't notice the change in atmosphere around them: how the people seated nearby grew quiet and listened, trying not to lean closer to better hear the exchange.

Sylvanas slapped her hands on the table. "Yes, a favor! Keep your voice down!" The action was loud enough to make the patrons jump and turn away.

"Ah! S-Sorry, I…."

"Just be quiet and listen." Sylvanas leaned forward, but only marginally so; she didn't want to give the girl ideas. "There's going to be a match tomorrow—one of those armchair leagues between the noblesse lower on the food chain. I checked in with the Board; it's going to be between House Llhoran and House Arrhidon. You and I got handpicked in the lottery and put into Llhoran."

Nova nodded, tapping her fingers against the mug. "Okay. Who do we have on our team?"

"We have Artanis as solo tank, Chromie, and Malfurion. House Arrhidon has ETC as tank and Uther as support with Tychus, Tracer, and Alarak as their frontline."

Nova took a sip. The tea had grown cold, but it still retained that cool, faint grape flavor. "That's a pretty strong team. Slippery, too. Between my emergency stealth protocol, your banshee cries, and Chromie's hearthstone…there aren't that many options of escape. Not many options to control the field, either. Did they decide on a realm?"

"Warhead Junction."

"The new stomping grounds, huh? Hopefully the Knights have the borders secured and the aether stabilized. After what happened to Hammer and her new, uh, followers, I don't think the Children of Atom and the Bawhm are going to be worshipping undetonated warheads and pushing for decriminalizing and legalizing public usage of nuclear and aetherite plants."

Sylvanas waved her hand dismissively. "They can do that in their hospital beds." And their chamber pots, knowing the kind of medicine Morales used to instantly cure radiation poisoning and aether fever, but there was a plate of food in front of Nova and there was enough humanity left in Sylvanas to not spoil the atmosphere with such crude comments. "As I was saying: I mention this to you not only to let you know ahead of time, but because I have accepted a challenge from Alarak, the newcomer."

"You sure it was a challenge and not an attempt to goad you into something he could take advantage of? I mean, Warhead Junction isn't exactly protoss territory but he wasn't given the title of Highlord for being a boy scout. He's cunning, Sylvanas. The Tal'darim are _assholes_ , and Alarak just happens to be the biggest one of 'em all. They'll muddy their four-fingered, Simpsons-styled hands if it means winning a losing battle.

Sylvanas shrugged. "So? What does he have that I don't?"

"He has telekinesis!"

She scoffed. "So he can move things with his mind! A valuable asset, but not something I am sorely in need of."

"He's fast and knows how to charge in when you least expect it!"

She nodded. "Indeed…if you're deaf. You can hear him coming from the other side of the battlefield."

"He's a dick to everyone, even the healers." Nova turned up her nose. "I swear, I think he likes to self-inflict some of that pain as much as he can dish it so he could bitch out Morales or Li Li, saying their nanites and magicks aren't enough to keep him going."

"So he claims. He believes himself to be, and I quote, 'the biggest sadist on this side, that side, and outside the Nexus'. Which brings me to my aforementioned point: Alarak has heard of the more…well, I can't say the things I've done back home are considered 'unsavory' if I had done them within my moral boundaries. But yes, he's heard about me and proposed a game of sorts, the kind of game I, in my most high seat as Banshee Queen, have no time for."

Nova sipped again. "What was it?"

"He said he wanted to see who the biggest sadist is. On top of learning of my deeds on Azeroth, he's also more or less yanked on the grapevine one too many times and learned of my…relationship with the participants in the Hero League. More importantly: you. Tell me, Nova, do you still keep track of how many times you die by my hand?"

"Sure do. I still have the ledgers from when we first made our acquaintance." Nova tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, blinking the spots out of her eyes. "Sure doesn't feel like going on two years…."

"Which is why I require your assistance. Alarak is of the opinion that I will so easily use you as a meat shield in order to protect myself from some of the more brutal fights that'll go down in and out of the throw pits. Normally I would do that if it were to work to my advantage…but not this time." Sylvanas shook her head. "Nay, Nova—this time, it will not be the case. So I ask that you may do me this favor."

Nova had set down the cup and took up the fork and knife, and paused just she was about to cut into the crisp shank. "You're not going to murder me again, are you? Even if we lose? No offense, but there's a difference between catching me when I least expect it and doing me in when I'm at my weakest."

"You have my word I will not indiscriminately break every bone in your body, put holes in it, or punt you off a cliff into oblivion out of cathartic spite." For now.

Nova hummed and for a time set upon the meat, cutting it into bite-sized chunks. Sylvanas waited as the girl chewed, thought, swallowed, and picked up another piece, resuming the process. "How will I get close to him?" she asked. "As soon as I drop the cloak, he's going to toss me around like a ragdoll. Especially with that charge of his; unless you or someone else gets between him, I'm screwed."

"As a matter of fact, Nova, you won't have to," said Sylvanas. "Not in the usual way, that is." She tried not to fidget; she was a Banshee Queen, dammit, and self-imposed undead queens with the power to raise the dead and make people deaf through the power of screaming _did not_ fidget.

Nova paused, lowering the meat-speared fork. "Oh? How so?" Sylvanas' frown, which was her default expression when she wasn't railing at everyone and every beast left and right when her temperament wasn't pressed, deepened into a scowl, and her ears flicked back and forth. It was instances like this where Nova found the older woman to be more doglike than catlike, but that only made the mental images of her as a chibi with animal ears all the more endearing. "What is it?" she pressed, trying not to let the childish glee of her thoughts be voiced.

Beneath the linen tablecloth, Sylvanas clenched her hands hard. "Nova, do you know how I've always said that if a person does not serve me in their first life, they will do so in the next as a Forsaken?"

"Yeah," said Nova. "Speaking of which, you never got back to me when I asked you if you'd raise me if I ever got dropped into Azeroth—"

"I'm still thinking it over."

"After a whole year?"

"These things take time," Sylvanas forced out between clenched teeth. " _Consideration_."

"Well, if I do this, I'm expecting an answer. Oh, and some major compensation. If this is going to be more hardcore than spontaneously dying to friendly fire or you causing the Li-Ming equivalent of a nuke going off by using Chromie as a missile again and I get caught in it—"

"I assure you, it won't be. And get that fork out of my face!"

"I want to be sure," Nova said, withdrawing the utensil. She didn't care if the gravy was dripping on the plate or all over the table. "If I'm going to die doing this—and between you and me, odds are good I _will_ —I want it to be special." Leaning back against the seat, legs crossed one over the other and the fork tapping her lips, she added, "Make it worth my while, and maybe, just maybe I'll—"

Sylvanas grumbled.

"What was that?" Nova asked, blinked, and sat up. She thought she had misheard, but...judging by those furrowed brows, the curled upper lip exposing her fangs, and the way her gaze was averted…

"I said I'll…." Sylvanas started, and trailed off into incoherency.

"Sylvanas, I can't hear you—"

"An outing! A debt to be repaid! An IOU! Call it what you will, but gods, ancestors, and cosmic forces beyond your mortal comprehension help you, do not call it a _DATE!_ " Sylvanas cried, and in a little corner at the far back of her mind she was vaguely aware of all the conversation around them dropping several decibels. "I will do anything you please _EXCEPT_ the first thing that comes into your mind, because _WE ALL KNOW_ we don't want to give those damn shippers more of a leg to stand on! Do I make myself clear, November Terra?"

Sylvanas watched the girl process this. With her mouth hanging open wide enough for a monorail to go through, she had the sudden urge to lean forward and ram the heel of her hand under her jaw just to hear the satisfying, painful click as it snapped shut. How was she to take her seriously with that wide-eyed, star-struck look on her face?

Nova blinked once. Twice. Sylvanas could almost hear the gears turning, could imagine the rust falling between the spaces in copper flakes. "…Anything?" she asked.

" _Anything_ ," Sylvanas said, putting emphasis on the word. She restrained herself from staring right back at the idiot patrons. Darkness, if she had just trained a little more she could compel them to commit mass suicide via mind control! The lack of such power, on top of being put on the spot, made her ears burn cold with humiliation. "Just…help me out this…one…time." The words felt as though they were being punctuated with a stake through her heart.

Nova smirked. She set down her utensils on the plate and pushed it aside. "Just 'one time'?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Oh, fine. Have it your way. Now then, let's get down to business, shall we? How do you plan to use me?"

* * *

The day came and went, and soon tomorrow became today, and when the sun was high and the aether storms not so chaotic, the match was underway. Disgruntled Children of Atom and Bawhm worshippers sulked in their holographic costumes and their picket signs on their laps, paying half a mind the blows House Llhoran and House Arrhidon traded in between lanes. Higher up, in glass-walled balconies, the lords and ladies sat in leather upholstery while their manservants and slaves stood sentinel behind them, watching the action unfold on HoloVision screens. Androids waited on them with platters of food and drink conjured from the banquet tables and wet bars.

They were upping the stakes as the match went on; this Alarak was certain. Raising the amount of money to be exchanged, what idiot and deviant dare they'd perform to the amusement of all their drunkard friends, who would have to give up a precious slave and bear the brunt of his master's wrath. He receded from their thoughts and reigned in his focus. Through the smoke he could see Tracer zipping in between Tychus and Artanis to get some shots in on Chromie, who was in the middle of casting a spell; Artanis spun on his heel and dashed back after her, but his blades caught only air as she warped back to her point of origin. Chromie fell on her back, got up, and fled past the broken gates toward the health fountain, blood dripping a zig-zagging trail behind her. Alarak emerged from the vent and blasted lightning from his palm. It nailed her right in the back and sent her rolling to the ground, dead. The crowd roared.

He harrumphed and turned away from her disintegrating body, warp blades primed and humming with power. He saw Malfurion coming in from the bottom lane on the unicorn, its flank bruised and the tip of its horn coated in gore both red and blue. Alarak scoffed and made a swift 'come hither' motion with his hand that elicited pinpricks up his wrist; he ignored it and pushed with his mind. An invisible wave shoved Malfurion from behind, throwing him off the beast. The unicorn whinnied and reared back, hooves pawing the air. Alarak pushed again, and the unicorn was slammed into the creep-infested wall; bereft of its rider, it disappeared in a shimmer of aether. Another wave of his hand, he picked Malfurion up and dumped him on his feet. Alarak charged, noting contemptuously the way the Archdruid, dazed as he was, raise his staff and cast Moonfire. The column of moonlight rained down on Alarak, lit up his skin in burning, blister-inducing waves. Unfazed, he put on a burst of speed, raised the warp blades and struck forward.

A phase prism caught Malfurion full-on and tossed him out of the way, replacing him with Artanis. Warp blades clashed—one blue and red locked together, the other blue knocking the red aside for a glancing blow and avoiding a full-on strike. Round, transparent shields erupted all over Artanis' body, brimming with light, and as they exchanged blow for blow the lights flickered and flared, flickered and dimmed, absorbing the damage. From another vent Tychus emerged, roaring in tandem with the whine of the minigun spitting line after line of bullets at the Daelaam Hierarch. A fresh batch of shields ignited on Artanis' armor and in seconds faded. Tracer slipped past the Terran outlaw, unloading both clips of her guns onto another array of shields, emptied the clips and slapped in new ones at a speed Alarak's eyes couldn't follow, and proceeded to go right through those. A third, fourth, and fifth set of shields burst in and out of existence like flashing strobe lights.

"ACTIVATE PURIFIER BEAM!" Artanis called, and made a gesture with his hands. Somewhere high above, past the clouds, the atmosphere, and through the aether, the _Spear of Adun_ relayed his call and brought down the thunder. The blue-white beam pierced the stars, the sky, and slammed into the ground as though it was the wrath of the gods themselves. Alarak growled and sidestepped as the beam chased after Tracer, sliding a deep gouge into earth, metal, and creep. She pushed herself seconds ahead of normal time, keeping several paces of it even as it went through the mid-lane's red gate and its shields screeched and its structures whined in protest. Alarak shot a surge of lightning at the battered foundations, destroying the systems that kept the shields online. The cannon towers crumbled inward, spilling gears and bolted plates and sawtoothed, square-toothed innards. Uther galloped in on the horse from the core's gate and reined it to a stop behind the bulk of the keep, away from the dissipating Purifier Beam. A quick psionic probe revealed the paladin was healing her injuries with the Holy Light. Another reach showed Chromie respawning at the Hall of Storms and making her way back to the fray.

Somewhere above them, someone yodeled. Distant at first, then rising in volume…obnoxious and grating on the ears. Or, it was the protoss equivalent of nails against a chalkboard. Artanis lunged forward and slashed once, twice, and a third time, warp blades criss-crossing the air. Alarak leaped back away from them and raised his in a parry. A fourth slash came whistling overhead. Alarak caught it with both weapons and, with a cry, put all his weight into his feet and swept his arms and Artanis' to the right, throwing the Daelaam Highlord off balance. Alarak pounced, slamming a blade through his opponent's girdle and into his gut, doubling him over. He reared his right arm back, gathered the psychic power in fist and warp blade, and struck Artanis open-palmed in the face. Crimson energy washed over him in a violent shockwave that blew him off his feet and bowled into Malfurion just as he was raising his staff again for another spell. Alarak growled as his movements came to a jarring halt and stared down at his body, which was wrapped in a slew of thorn-tipped vines. He grabbed a fistful and tore them off his body, heedless of the blood flowing freely from his hand.

All this happened in seconds, and then the ground shook as the Elite Tauren Chieftain made his grandiose entrance onto the scene, loosening the remaining vines from their ironclad grip. The bull-man yanked a stereo speaker off his belt and all but hurled it at the enemy gate, where it let loose a loud, static-riddled shockwave that bounced Malfurion and the evaporating corpse in his arms back a few feet.

The ETC ran his hand through his guitar's strings and flashed the night elf the hook 'em horns. "Yo, bros, don't stop 'til you can't get enough! Rock the night away! We got the advantage! Press on! They can't kill the metal, baby!"

"Quit your blathering, you oversized slab of uncooked beef, and _get the bomb!_ " said Alarak, tearing off the last of the vines. "Did you forget they have a cloaked assassin?"

"Live and learn! Nova knows she has to be dead to crowd surf! No way she'd make a move now!"

"Let me go check!" said Tracer, jogging past them. "It should still be there!" She accelerated through the smoke vents and reappeared immediately thereafter, arms and legs pumping hard and panic in her eyes. "It's not! WATCH OUT!"

Alarak and the Chief turned to face her, just in time for the howling black arrow to slam right into the tauren's chest. He barely managed to look down at what hit him before it exploded in a tide of black and purple magic. He was thrown against the wall and collapsed, his skull cracking against a sharp edge of broken tower. Alarak tossed up an arm and telekinetically pushed himself to the side just before he crashed into the structure, landing on both knees. His hearts drummed furiously in his chest, felt his skin thrum with adrenaline and the ache of necromancy rippling across his body and settle into his bones like frostbite. He lifted his head in time to see Sylvanas reform from her bizarre banshee cry in front of a confused Tracer and whip her arm upward. In her hand was the shadow dagger.

Blood flowed, and the light from her chronal accelerator was snuffed out. Her body crumbled to nothing, more quickly than the rest of her teammates. _Not even technology can protect you from the storm,_ he thought, and stood to his full height, appraising Sylvanas. She stared back at him, tall and proud, the inner shadows of her hood lit with a necromantic, red glow.

"Oh? You're not attacking me?" he asked. "How odd. Does that mean you rescind our challenge and surrender?"

"No," she said. "I'm still in this 'for the win', as the children put it these days."

Alarak barked laughter. "Not doing much of a good job, are you? You'd better work on that before those Arrhidon tools flag you for non-participation. But that's fine by me," he added with a shrug, limbering his shoulders. "It'll make this game so much easier."

"I could say the same to you. Shouldn't you be concerned about the lack of a nuke?"

His eyes widened, feigning innocence. "Should I? You make it sound as though it's a bother."

"I would be, if I were you. This is Nova we're talking about…and speaking of which, we're out in the open. You should keep an open mind, Highlord. It might get you somewhere."

He laughed again. "Don't be so certain! It's so easy to tell when the stealth protocol is active. Have you ever noticed when the sun hits it at the right angle? Even on a cloudy day, if you look closely~" He scanned the lane, eyes narrowing. "You can point. Them. OUT!" He whipped both hands forward and unleashed a streak of lightning at the vent to Sylvanas' left. The smoke parted, but it revealed nothing.

She turned her head toward the vent and arched a brow. "I guess not."

"She is around here somewhere! Ghosts, as you should know, cannot abide to hide forever. They have a propensity for the most. Unusual. PLACES!"—another bolt, this time to her right—"to take over. You, at least, have that nasty old sack to walk around in. You can manipulate it however you please…although I don't see why anyone, especially a…person as transitioned as Miss Nova…would want to take a…personal…interest. It'd be like reading those god-awful fanfiction everyone just loves to write. It's all BLITHER and BLATHER and UNREALISTIC EXPECTATION set UP for DISAPPOINTMENT!" He struck with emphasis, each blast hitting dangerously closer to Sylvanas. The Banshee Queen did not move an inch.

"Ah, but I digress," Alarak said, relaxing his posture, as if he hadn't just torn up part of the lane. "If you're here, then that means she's nearby. I wonder if she'd dare take the risk if I so much as, oh I don't know, tickle you?" He splayed his palm and blackened the ground at her feet, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust along with the edge of her cloak.

Sylvanas' ears twitched. She stared at the scorched earth, then stared back up at the protoss. "You know, Alarak, I can respect someone who does what it takes to get to the top regardless of their methods. Not everyone can be like us and bloody their hands and get away with it. But you know…there is one thing I have that you lack."

Alarak shook his head in quick, little motions. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Did you happen to say you're _better_ than me?"

"More or less. More, really. There's no less with me."

"And what is this oh-so desirable trait that I'm lacking, eh?" Alarak primed the warp blades and moved into a ready stance. At the very edges of his mind, prodding with very faint fingertips, he could sense the gnome-dragon and Artanis riding out of the Hall of Storms. "I want you to think very carefully—"

"Focus."

"What?" he growled.

"You lack focus," said Sylvanas. "Oh, and let's not forget reaction time."

"Reaction—?"

Malfurion staggered through the gate. "Sylvanas! This isn't the time for palavers—"

What happened next slowed to a crawl.

"Hey, buddy!" came Nova's voice, and the Ghost herself uncloaked right behind the Tal'darim Highlord, just outside the keep's targeting protocol. She clamped a hand on the back of a gauntlet and raised her head, locking eyes with him as he was twisting around to look.

That grin was _monstrous_. "Today's your birthday!" In her other hand, something metal and cylindrical glowed a subsuming green. In such close proximity, the warp blade crackled. " _Let's celebrate_."

Alarak's hearts seized. "WHAT—!"

And then everything happened in an instant.

" _THE WARHEAD!"_ Tracer cried, and made to move.

" _BY THE LIGHT!"_ yelled Uther, and he rushed forward, hammer pointed at Alarak in a motion to shield him.

"Sylvanas, you planned—!" Malfurion began.

"MOVE!" she said, and all but spun him around and shoved her boot up his ass. Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Nova bringing down the nuke onto the tip of the Highlord's warp blade.

 _REMEMBER OUR DEAL, SYLVANAS!_ Nova's single thought blared in her head.

Then the nuke exploded. The shockwave that followed sped across the lane and into the gate, causing it to crackle and whine. The hum that signified the systems were up and running in the cannon towers died with the EMP passing, and it was all Sylvanas could hear before the wave lifted her feet off the ground and slammed her into Malfurion. Artanis forced his battle beast to a halt, to which it roared in shock as he drew up on the reins. Chromie nearly rammed into his back on the MVP Black tile, but as its engines recalibrated to adjust the sudden movement she gazed upon the mushroom cloud blooming amidst the destruction of the enemy keep. Nova, Alarak, Tracer, and Uther were gone.

"Sylvanas," Artanis began, "tell me you didn't just send Nova to her death."

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" she said, pushing herself off Malfurion.

"Because Nova does whatever Nova wants unless you're involved to some capacity," the Archdruid said, giving the Banshee Queen a look that was both dismayed and resigned. "Which is, I should put it, every chance she gets."

Sylvanas shrugged. "Who's to say she didn't come up with this on her own?"

"Sylvanas, I was right there. I heard everything."

"And you're going to have such a _wonderful_ time on your date!" Chromie exclaimed, sidling up next to her with a big smile. Sylvanas scowled. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's a lot better than watching _The Walking Dead_ and browsing the forums for spoilers and viewer reactions afterwards or trying to connect to online servers while playing _Mortal Kombat_. You'll get to participate in Jeetilopolis' Monster Truck and Rocket Rooster Sudden Death Competition!"

Artanis shot Sylvanas a bewildered look. "Wait. You…and her…are you actually—?"

" _Don't_ even _finish_ that sentence," she snarled.

"But if you really cared, why did you—"

"Unless you want to experience what having a mouth feels like, you'll keep those thoughts to yourself!" She whipped out the shadow dagger and stopped its point shy of carving it across his face. Artanis' eyes narrowed and took a step back, shrugging his shoulders in stubborn acquiescence. "Now, if we're all done speculating my personal, backdoor on-goings, let us return our focus to the match. Not a word of this to _anyone_. Understand? If I so much as hear one of you gossip—"

"You'll murder us in our sleep, we know, we know," said Malfurion, brushing himself off and taking his staff to hand. "Honestly, Sylvanas, you are much too predictable. People will find out even if we don't talk. You know this match is being recorded and broadcast on cable network and internet streaming services, right?"

"And you know how obsessed the paparazzi are," Chromie added. "They're _totally_ going to tail you to the ends of the Anchors and back if it means getting a _teensy-weensy_ bit of information, no matter how incorrect and farfetched, out of your relationship with Nova. That kind of stuff sells like hot cakes!"

Sylvanas pulled her lips back in a severe scowl. "By all that is dark and unholy, never say _teensy-weensy_ ever again. It's bad enough trying to take you seriously looking like…well, _that_." She gestured to the pint-sized gnome form Chromie presented herself in.

Chromie steepled her hands together and bowed to her a mock-salaam. "We'll get our day in the spotlight. Eventually…but for now, you're stuck with me, plus a night elf who can't decide what animal he identifies with (no offense taken, Mal) and the not-draenei space samurai. Isn't that grand?"

Sylvanas sneered and walked away, grumbling, knocking an arrow against the bowstring.


	29. Chapter 29

**Title:** Patience (or, The Obligatory Lunar Festival Episode, 2015 Edition)  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas waits in line."  
 **Notes1:** Although not part of the thirty-six chapters I have written down on the Work Notepad, this was an idea I've had in mind for some time (read: nine months after the Lunar Festival 2015 trailer, as of this writing). The ending for this was originally going to be an all-out brawl...but that wouldn't be too fun, now would it?  
 **Notes2:** I'm amused by the reaction to what down in the previous chapter, but let's not engross ourselves in tunnel vision: the story is listed Li-Ming/Nova/Sylvanas FOR A REASON. I don't constrain myself to shipping given how...chaotic people can be about it (and why I still hesitate to call any Nova/Sylvanas interactions "romance", although readers will tell me otherwise). Still, I'm tempted to throw Tracer into the mix because why not; the Overwatch fandom already has her welded to Widowmaker. May as well go the extra mile.  
 **Notes3:** Also, again I need to apologize to SkullyPirate for saying in a PM I'd get this out three days ago but, you know, work. I am, surprisingly, off on Black Friday, so...perhaps I should do a Black Friday chapter? The people of the Nexus do have their bouts of insanity now and then.  
 **Notes4:** I miss making fan art for this. I might do more and add them to the DeviantArt page in the near future. Like, almost every picture of Sylvanas that I see is in red, black, purple or grey overtones. It's much too Gothic an art style befitting something zany as this fanfic.  
 **Notes5:** I had a friend way back when who had played Final Fantasy X during the heyday of the PS2 (I had only played FF9; I have not played X) and said that Yuna didn't like being such a good girl all the time and wanted to be a rebel (or something; the memory's fuzzy). Now I don't know how true that is, but that little conversation we had back as middle-schoolers brings to mind the one-eighty Jaina has going on in this chapter.

* * *

Sylvanas tapped her foot, raised her head and peered over Illidan's left shoulder—just in time to see Jaina backhand Arthas across the face again. The reek of protective and strength-augmented enchantments was sulfurous and thick as a pall of wood-burning smoke.

"Come on," she growled under her breath. Leaning back on her heels, she glanced at her watch: it was going on nine o'clock. She didn't see the need of owning a watch, but the Shire's clock tower had ceased functioning and, once the citizenry got over its bout of mass hysteria and descent into caveman mentality, folks started relying on using sundials and the good old-fashioned stick to tell time. It was a Pendleton-brand moonphase analog watch with a brown leather strap and detachable glass watch face inlaid with gold, a gift she had received from Li Li (and Nova, the pandaren girl insisted— _always Nova,_ Sylvanas groused, but Li-Ming had to keep reminding her that it was _her idea_ to get her something) during an all-girl's outing Jaina had put together a while back. It must've cost them both a bit of gold, since the Pendletons were one of the many watch- and clockmaking families renown throughout the Nexus.

"And this is for Stratholme!" Jaina cried, and there was the sound of flesh and magic smacking into metal. Sylvanas whipped her head up and looked over Illidan's right shoulder. She was treated to a view of Arthas straining against the magical bindings the Kirin Tor mage had placed on him, an ugly snarl twisting his frostbitten lips. Frostmourne lay forgotten next to him, also bound in arcane strands.

Illidan made an impatient noise and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"Oi, Jaina! Let ev'ryone else 'ave their turn!" said Muradin, brandishing his axe and hammer. "Ye've been at it twenty minutes already! We're wasting silver for every five minutes we spend standin' here!"

"I'm not finished yet!" said Jaina, and she adjusted her grip on the flower-laced staff so she held as though it were a baseball bat.

"If you want another turn, get back in line and wait like the rest of us!" said Illidan.

"Says the man who claims his hatred is unending! And yet…here you are." Jaina swiveled her head around, shooting him a dangerous sidelong glance. "Go find a kettle and call it black, you…you…rusty pot!"

Illidan flashed her a mouth crammed full of fangs. "Woman, you did not just call me _old_ —"

"Yes, she did," said Sylvanas. "You're over ten-thousand years old."

"Nobody asked _you_ ," he said, bearing his teeth at the Banshee Queen behind him. She shrugged, nonplussed.

"I am older than the two of you combined!" said Anub'arak, whose shadow loomed over both elves. "It would make sense if her statement were directed at me, as I have not rust but cobwebs clinging to my frame!"

"So dust them off, you relic," said Sylvanas, and Illidan nodded in begrudging agreement.

Anub'arak fiddled his pincers together and stamped his four legs. "Nerubians do not do dusting! These webs are our pride and joy! Also, we're incapable of reaching that far back! It is an absolute fury when you have an itch and you Can't. Reach it!"

"Sucks to be you then."

"Use your locusts, worm," said Illidan, harrumphing. "You have them for a reason. _They're_ the ones that require a proper spring cleaning. Gods know how long they've been nesting under there." He grumbled this last under his breath, just loud enough for Anub'arak to perk up and catch it.

"What was that?!"

"PIPE DOWN! I CAN'T CONCENTRATE!" Jaina hollered, stopping her staff mid-swing. Arthas breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"I'd raise ya a beer fer that, lassie!" said Muradin. "Now hurry it up and make it count! I'm GETTIN' HUNGRY!"

"You're wide enough as it is!" said Sylvanas. "You can stand to lose a few pounds."

"AYE! Who are ye calling fat?" Muradin whirled around and pointed the axe at her. "Ye ever look in a mirror? Ah swear, it's like starin' at one o' those elf on a shelf toys at Hub-Mart! There ain't nothin' on ya!"

"Oh, I hate those things!" said Kael'thas in front of him. "They are a terrible representation of elvenkind! Now why can't we get something that's more like…well, more like us?"

"Define 'us'," said Sylvanas.

"Well, for starters: we're nothing like those cheap novelties. We have a skeletal structure and actual muscle mass. We have fangs dedicated to fine dining, ego inflation, and eviscerating fleshy jugulars with the speed of a graceful jaguar. We advocate a broad range of socio-political movements such as nature preservation, magical drug rehabilitation, and our favorite pastime: warmongering! With a side of backhanded compliments and snide pleasantries! Oh, and let us not forget our varying fashion designs and clothing lines that we totally did not plagiarize from those heathen trolls! We set the trends, not them! How do you think I get my hair to look this way?"

"If it's not applying coagulated demon blood as a hair gel, it's getting a little too in touch with your feminine side. People still don't take you blood elves seriously."

"A lot more than the rash of half-elves you see now and then." Kael'thas sniffed. "Why do full-bloods insist on shacking up with humans when we still have plenty of young, virile bodies to go around?"

"Let's just drop this discussion right here," she said with a sneer. "Listening to you talk about elves on shelves, eugenics, and cultural norms is almost insulting."

"Agreed," said Illidan. "Let us all agree we have more than what the media presents us as."

Kael'thas scoffed and turned away. "Spoilsports. Just admit that you cannot face the reality that's in front of you. The reality you were ripped from to begin with, so to say. I can scarce imagine a world where I was never born or, heavens forbid, be dead. Why, who would help those poor elves come to terms with themselves?"

Muradin and Sylvanas exchanged knowing looks. Illidan frowned deeply.

"Now, Jaina," Kael'thas began. She had the staff in that baseball bat grip and her body positioned as a player ready to strike one home for the team, and yet she still hadn't moved. "I don't mean to come off as pushy, but if you would be so kind as to, you know, finish up and let us have our turn? The night cannot stay young forever." He put a hand on her shoulder.

He felt her stiffen under his touch. "Kael'thas," she said. "Have you ever wondered what it'd like to be a shooting star?"

Kael'thas laughed. "Have I ever wondered? Have I ever dreamed? Jaina, you are so funny! Random as your question is, there was never any doubt in my mind I was _not_ a shooting star! I can only imagine the kind of legacy I'll leave behind when I lead my people into Outland and save them from their drug-induced damnation! Oh, Light bless you, Muradin." He remarked to the dwarf when he sneezed and coughed into his hand.

Jaina nodded. "That's a shame, but maybe it's not too late to change your mind."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because if you don't let go in the next two seconds, I'm going to make you _reach_ for the stars." She spun on him and all but thrust the staff in his face. He was taken aback by the tranquil, barely restrained fury marring her pretty blue eyes. "Unless you want to find out right now."

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I do not."

"I do!" piped Sylvanas, hands cupped over mouth. "Come on, Proudmoore, give in to your hatred!"

Jaina redirected her glare over to the Banshee Queen. "On second thought, maybe I can practice on you, Sylvanas. For as long as I've been in the Nexus, no one really goes out of their way to set you straight—what with your sour attitude towards everyone, your blatant disregard for Hero League regulations, and hurting poor Nova in the most bullying ways possible! Well no more Miss Nice Girl! At least for tonight! This is the Lunar Festival, and I feel like I need to be a right old bitch in order to get a heaping helping of catharsis! I oughta knock your head off those shoulders!" She shrugged. "I mean, you're undead so it should be easier to do than cracking a few bones in Kael'thas' neck and paralyzing him, I suppose."

Sylvanas clapped. "That's more like it! That's the Jaina Proudmoore I know! Go on, girl. Unleash that inner bitch for all the world to see! This place could afford to use more backbone."

"Oh, I will! I can show you I can be a bad girl! But wait just a little bit longer; I have to finish smacking Arthas first."

Everyone groaned and spoke all at once.

"Jus' smack 'im good and let's get a move on! There's a line back here!" said Muradin, bashing axe and hammer together.

"I grow tired of waiting!" said Illidan. "Make your move and be done with it!"

"We don't want to hear your pretentious monologues anymore!" said Anub'arak, and raised both pincers with a frustrated, insectile roar.

Kael'thas rolled his eyes. "Jaina, for the love of Light, I cannot be here all night! I feel as though my feet are standing on pins and needles!"

"You've smacked him plenty of times in the bedroom!" said Sylvanas. "How much more do you have to do before you make him your bitch?"

Jaina gasped, cheeks burning red. "Y-You…!"

A gunshot rang out and something sharp cracked, and all argument and complaining ceased. Jaina turned around and yelped at the sight of Arthas on the ground, bindings undone, arms thrown forward as though he was bowing in supplication before her. A thin trail of smoke exuded from the back of his helmeted head.

She raised her eyes, and front and center was Nova, lowering the sniper rifle to her side. Drinking in their reactions, ranging from stunned to alarm to seeping neutrality, she sniffed dismissively. "You guys are so loud! A girl can't have her share of dango in peace! So what do you know, I got curious and had to see for myself what all the ruckus was about." She looked down at the rapidly degrading corpse at her feet. "Can't say I'm surprised. You weren't going to get anything done just standing around, so I figured I do you all a favor. See, now you can go about doing whatever you were doing earlier."

She sighed at Jaina readjusting her grip on the staff, so that its flower-shaped head was pointed at her. "Okay, really? This is what it comes down to?"

"I put good money in towards my sponsored charity to be first in line," said Jaina. "Something's got to give. And I was only just warming up."

Nova scoffed. "Puh-lease! That is so full of sh—"

"She stole our kill!" Anub'arak cried, wings beating a rapid machine gun noise. "OUR KILL!"

"All for donating our wasted gold to charity by stomping Nova to paste?" Illidan asked the assembled line, drawing his warglaives from their sleeves.

"'S long as she puts up a good fight!" said Muradin.

"I'm only here because I lost a bet," said Thrall, who was behind Anub'arak, raising his voice above the hubbub. "I don't think this is fair to her—"

"I've been standing in line for over fifteen minutes!" said Uther, behind Thrall. "I shouldn't have had to wait! Unlike the rest of you, I at least had the gumption to die!"

"I'm not even going to bother," Sylvanas said, shrugging. "In fact, I'm not even angry. You took care of him for me; that's all that counts. You'd best run along now. Presumably quickly, if you value your life."

"GET HER!" said Jaina, and made a wild, flamboyant, upward jab with her arm. The ground rocked hard, fast, as though someone shook it for all its worth to pry something free—and it did. Nova jumped back when the onrush of water sprang between the spider web cracks and molded into the looming, hunchbacked shape of the water elemental. She was tickled pink to see it wearing a long, blue metal mask in the shape and appearance of a Chinese dragon, and with matching vambraces above its claw-like hands.

"Aw, that's cute," said Nova, while taking small, tentative steps away from the approaching creature. "You dress it up for the holidays, too. Hey, where can I get a mask like that in my size?"

"IN HELL!"

Nova spread her arms to the side, laughing. "We already are! Although I'd prefer somewhere that's a bit more COSMOPOLITAN!" She ducked under from the blast of water that passed right where she had stood. Then she was up and running, swearing and fumbling for the stealth protocol as Jaina lead her elemental and the line of Heroes in a calamitous, raucous charge after her. Tourists screamed and dived for cover, some of which knocked loose the support struts on the tents and sent them and their assorted tables and displays crashing to the ground. Shop owners and proprietors emerged from the fabrics and yelled at their retreating backs, shook their fists, and even flipped them the bird.

Thrall came to stand beside Sylvanas. He scratched the back of his neck. "You know, when Chen said this was a time to 'settle our differences and grievances', I didn't imagine the Board would resort to, um, this."

"Thrall, you've been here a year…and you're just now realizing this? Come on now. It's one of the few times where unsanctioned fighting is allowed. What did you think was going to happen?"

He sighed wearily. "I had thought as much, given how the world…well, with the way it is, how it brings out the, uh, best in people. It's almost…like a virus amplified tenfold."

Sylvanas hummed agreement.

"You're not going to join them?" he asked her, and at the arched brow she gave him, added, "Nova deprived you your opportunity at getting, er, stress relief."

Sylvanas waved the statement off. "As I've said, there's no point in being angry when she took matters into her own hands. Arthas will come back, anyway. I have…however long I am here in the Nexus to mete out his punishment." She folded her arms over her chest. "Nova will be fine. Maybe. Illidan loves to hunt a lot."

Thrall gave her a curious look. "Interesting. Normally you're so abrasive toward Nova and would kill her over the slightest thing." The corners of his lips quirked up in a smile. "Did she finally get through to that hard, cold exterior?"

"Of course not!" she said, and put her back to him. "You know how she is! I just pity her, that's all! Someone has to rein in that ball of insanity! Don't be such a fanboy! What…What will people think when they look at your resume? Can you imagine seeing 'fanboy' next to 'Warchief of the Horde' and 'leader of the Earthen Ring' in your employment history?" She threw down her arms in a huff and shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Good Darkness, you are better than that!"

Thrall laughed. "Whatever you say, Sylvanas. Whatever you say."


	30. Chapter 30

**Title:** Fluffy Friday (or, The Obligatory Black Friday Episode, 2016 Edition)  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas is called upon by the Board to work on the busiest day of the year at Hub-Mart."  
 **Notes1** : Partly based on my own experience of working Thanksgiving Day at Walmart and inspired by Consort's PM which gave the prompt more fuel for the fire. Although this account is a lot more highly exaggerated than what I went through that evening, given that half the stuff Sylvanas pulls would be grounds for managerial reprimanding and probably a violation for being verbally abusive to a paid customer. In this chapter, the character closest to being a self-insert would be Li Li with a mix of the dry wit and sarcasm by Sylvanas.  
 **Notes2:** I had considered doing a "Twelve Days of Christmas" sort of mini-arc, but when I saw the Feast of Winter Veil trailer I figured it'd probably be better off as another drabble. I mean, come on, you know how Impressions!verse!Nexus works: stuff will blow up, the citizenry would revolt and probably turn on each other in all the chaos and confusion, and everyone participating in Lunara and Gingerdread Nazeebo's fight would get slapped with a hefty bill, debts be damned. Aren't we glad we have Powers-sponsored charities?  
 **Notes3:** So I guess the blog question from _How Does That Even Work?_ kind of went off the grid and died a quiet death, so...I don't know. I'm still entertaining the idea, though.  
 **Notes4:** For better or worse, Brightwing returns and sees the positive side of the debacle...but be grateful this is a comedy and not a dark story full of suffering fit to make Urobuchi Gen proud. She'd be the first to get axed and endure a fate worse than death if I had my way (and my temper run afoul). But that's not to say I don't like her; I'd still take Malfurion over her as my go-to healer any day of the week. (Just remember what I said.)  
 **Notes5:** I kept count of the items in particular while on my shift, which my coworker and I made a game out of. I got up to nine before I was called to help the rest of my cashiers at the self-checkout (that is also the same setting that Sylvanas and Li Li are in for this installment).  
 **Notes6:** The Haunted Mines map is back! Sadly, the cheesing strats are still there (i.e. have Hammer or a specialist push a lane while everyone else is collecting skulls) and matches retain the tendency to last up to an hour. You can bet there'll be a chapter on the Grand Opening in the near future.

* * *

"You know something, Sylvanas?" Li Li asked, as the tall nobleman—a lesser Houseborn, judging by the glimpse of the one-horned shield outlining the sigil he moved too fast for her to see—brushed by her without a word. Oh, and had his nose all but up against his cell, too; it'd sucked to be him if he crashed into somebody.

"Hrm?" was all Sylvanas enunciated, her head turning and following the customer down the spacious aisle, past the walk-in cosmetic and candle shops, salons and floral boutiques. Li Li saw her ears were sweeping low and back. Oh dear.

"I think Hub-Mart picked the worst two people for this job."

"What do you mean 'the two worst'?" Sylvanas spun on her heel, to keep both an eye on Li Li and the constant stream of customers flowing in and out of the automatic doors. "The Board knows damn well what I am. You're just a kid."

"A very cute kid, I'll say!"

"Who has no experience in retail whatsoever; you can't even speak the languages of the more foreign Nexians without making an ass of yourself. And don't get me started on those Riftwalkers."

"Well, the Hubland _does_ happen to have the most diverse population in the Hub realm."

"That's beside the point. You're not like Chen. You're too quiet! Too demure! And certainly nowhere near drunk enough."

"You know I only taste-test his brews, right? I mean, hello, look at me—I'm a Hero but that still doesn't grant me exemption from certain age-restricted laws!"

"Not even your outward appeal can stop these people from doing something they shouldn't," said Sylvanas, and as soon as the words left her mouth an older woman swathed in robes—another lesser Houseborn, but with a different family crest—went by on a hovering motorized scooter. Its nanorite engine was quietly humming. She clapped a none too gentle hand on the madam's shoulder. "You there, lady. You can't go that way."

The woman turned her head around, glaring, and for a moment her face whitened at the Hero whose presence she had the pleasure to be in. Then her brows doubled down and she stuck her chin out. "Well why in the Anchors can't I? Do you know who you are speaking to?"

Sylvanas nodded, lips pressed together. "Right. The Queen of England. Gotcha."

"And I see you haven't stopped being the Bitch Queen," she scoffed.

"No, that's Kerrigan, but nice try. Look, you can't go out that way. You have to go around the area." Sylvanas pointed out the self checkout, a big space squared off with cardboard racks holding sunglasses and visors, plastic shelves full of snacks, and coolers stocked with an assortment of energy drinks, organic fruit juice, and bottled water. It was currently jam-packed with customers of various walks of life and android manservants being attended to by minions and Heroes; the Archangel Diablo towered over the likes of Jaina (and who else would jump at the chance to help people and spread that holiday, Disney-esque cheer than freaking _Jaina_ ), Auriel, the Vikings, and even completely dwarfed Chromie to the point where he could close his hand around her body and use her for football practice. Everyone wore the blue and purple vest that were the colors of the Nexus, although Chromie's was three sizes too big and dragged across the floor, and Diablo's was much too small even for XXXL and was all but hanging in shredded rags over his massive frame. "Go around and to the left. The managers don't want people coming and going past the checkout aisles."

"But I'm parked all the way on the other side of the store!"

"You can leave through the grocery side, ma'am; you just have to go around," Li Li tried to explain, and the woman peered down her bifocals at the smaller girl. Sylvanas rolled her eyes— _Yes, let's see if your 'cute appeal' spares us another pissed off customer._ "It's to prevent stealing—"

"This is bloody stupid!" the woman exclaimed, slamming a hand on the fuel gauge. "You're going to make an old woman like me go all the way around the parking lot!"

Li Li shook her head. "No, ma'am, you misunderstand! The store just wants everyone to keep going to the right. You can still leave through the pharmacy doors—"

"Pathetic lot. I'm glad you're not viable for the League. No one wants your endangered ass! And you!" She jabbed a finger at Sylvanas. "I'm reporting you to corporate for this! Your attitude is balls and your outfit triggers me!"

"I don't work here—"

"I don't care! You're an inconvenience to this store! I'm not coming back here ever again!" The Houseborn grasped the wheel with one hand and pulled the shift-stick in reverse. "Out of the way, gods-dammit!" With a gratingly loud beep the shopping cart bucked, adjusting to its passenger's weight and the distribution of the bagged goods and utilities in the basket. Then it backed up, sharp and fast, the woman heedless of the indignant (Sylvanas) and startled (Li Li) cries of the Heroes jumping out of the way, and in a U-turn that almost bowled over several customers once again going the wrong way she made her retreat, making curses and oaths and pagan rebukes under her breath ("The Raven Lord peck your eyes, tits, and belly button out!").

"Hey, wait!" Li Li called out. "Come back!" She ran after the speeding cart, vest flapping behind her. With the hubbub of conversation and items being scanned all around her, she didn't hear Sylvanas emit a single snort of laughter.

"Oh, you are _so_ funny, Li Li," she mumbled. Like hoity-toity customers were going to listen to her; some people just had the gall to come to their own misguided conclusions and deem them correct, regardless of store policy and (she admitted with a smudge of reluctance and commiseration) employee courtesy. She shook her head and turned away just as Li Li rounded the corner, still unsuccessfully hailing the woman to stop but succeeding in causing a good dozen or so customers to stare dumbly at her (she was surprised to see Gul'dan acting as door greeter for the evening shift; he glowered at the panda girl from beneath his bushy brows and said something Sylvanas didn't deign and couldn't bother to hear).

When she turned around, it was to the sight of something furry and silky soft being pushed into her face. "Bwuh—!" She sputtered with the garbled, reptilian yelp accompanying the sudden jarring of the motor cart coming to a halt and pushed herself away. "Watch where you're—What the?"

A life-sized teddy bear smiled down at her, its head resting on its nonexistent collarbone. Scowling, Sylvanas shoved the thing to the side and pulled a face at the hunchbacked demon glaring at her. "What are you looking at me for?" she sniped. "You're the one that almost ran me over—"

The demon lay on the horn. Sylvanas backpedalled and clutched her ringing ears. No one could hear the string of obscenities flying from her mouth. When the sound ended, she looked up and saw the demon with one hand on its bicep and the other flashing her the middle finger…claw…whatever constituted as a middle finger; this one seemed to be missing two of them. "Well, piss on you, too, buddy!"

"That's enough!" a low, sonorous voice rumbled behind the demon. It looked behind it and followed the very wide, many-legged, bling-adorned body that belonged to Azmodan, the Lord of Sin. He grasped the crown of its head in one large, meaty hand bedecked in rings and forcefully turned it up so that their eyes met. "You be nice now! Do you want to be escorted off the premises? Get this thing moving at once; you're holding up the line!" He made a throwing motion with his arm that tossed the lieutenant (so Sylvanas saw, judging by the arrows seared into the plate of a pauldron) forward in its seat.

"There are more of these?" She asked, gesturing lamely at the teddy bear.

Azmodan grinned, causing his cheeks to dimple. "Why, yes. About eight others and…hm," he tallied the number on his fingers, "twelve pallets full of child-sized plushies."

" _Twelve?_ Why on earth do you need twelve pallets? And ones with… _that?_ " This time she jabbed her arm at the carts behind the demon. Some were rattling the bars back and forth and shaking their fists above opened boxes where teddy bear heads and arms and legs piled on top of one another. Others punched the horn and yelled at their compatriot in their black, gibberish tongue for it to move. The demon twisted around and shouted back, making a waving motion with its arm: _Settle down and get off my back!_

Azmodan took his sweet time rotating to face the direction she was pointing at. Damn, and she thought Muradin was fat; this bastard could be a battleground core if he wanted to. "You should know my training regimen is…very, very hard. Get it?" He giggled at his joke, which withered at the cold, flat gaze Sylvanas gave him. "Sorry, sorry. C-Couldn't help myself. But, um, ahem," he cleared his throat, "yes, the regimen is…taxing, so to say. Sometimes I just have to muster all my willpower and summon them through the fabric of space-time to help me push a lane or dogpile the poor sods all clustered together at a chokepoint. They need to unwind, see, release the stress of being molecularly discombobulated and called from across the Anchors to scout a smoke vent or an overgrown bush for an enemy and wondering if your girlfriend or that half-naked ninja wannabe is stalking them from behind."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell everyone this, but let's get one thing straight," said Sylvanas, simultaneously craning her neck to get most of him in her vision and looking down upon him. "Nova's a girl, and calling her my 'friend' is really pushing it. Thus, she is my friend. Who is a girl, woman, whatever she identifies as, I don't give a damn. You have to switch those words around and put the space in between them. The other way around—it doesn't work that way."

Azmodan dismissed her claims with a dainty wave. "Why do you even bother? I ship anyone and anything; you just happen to be one of the more profiled. Anyway, let us get back on topic, lest we deviate into further normalcy."

"You mean 'degeneracy'."

"That's what I meant. Anyway, lieutenants and generals and minions alike need to relax. I do not want them to break under pressure anymore than I am already subjecting them. Alas, since we are bound by those insidious laws, I and my armies cannot exactly…hmm, how do those Vikings put it…pillage, plunder, and setting things on fire. Among other more…extreme measures we can't perform, unless we wish to be expelled from the League and incarcerated for eternity in the Starless Depths. So we go to the springs way out in the Drops west of the Wend, the onsen in Jade Town and Little Pandaria, the open gyms and basketball courts in Goba Goba, the gondola rides and the bird watching and the fly fishing in Anteria along the Delta. It's very…hmm, what's the word I'm looking for? You know, that word where you deflate like a balloon and feel very good inside even when you are experiencing conflicting emotions on the outset."

"Cathartic?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"And you don't go to those private universities to get in on their safe spaces, curl up in a ball, and wait for the world to pass you by?"

Azmodan sneered, which made his eyes almost crinkle shut. "I don't believe in that nonsense…although I can't really bring it upon myself to take the coloring books away. Between you and me, I've noticed their shading is getting better; makes the picture look more pronounced. I like to get them laminated at the currency exchange and hang them up on the walls and refrigerator—with their permission, that is."

"Good for you," said Sylvanas.

Going by the smile on his face, the sarcasm was either ignored or lost upon him. "Oh, I know. That is also why I bought as many teddy bears I could get my hands on. The boys and girls can't get enough of them. You should see how creative they can get. One teddy bear can play the role of a psychiatrist on those long, low-backed couches for the patients to sit on; another a wounded war veteran having finished physical therapy and coming home to his sweetie; this one being bait for hunters so the bigger teddy bear can demolish them. Sometimes we knit sweaters and smaller plushies when we tear the stuffing out of them, and those we donate to charity and NPOs; one of the few times I practice recycling, you know."

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute!" Sylvanas held up a hand. "You said 'boys and girls'."

"Yes, I did."

"How can you tell? _Look at them!_ They're all the same!" She scowled darkly at the demon shaking its fist at her, saying something that was too garbled and cavernous to understand. "Yes, I'm talking about you, too!"

Azmodan sniffed. "You're not a demon; I don't expect you to know nor understand the physiological differences, height and weight be damned. Isn't that right, Marta?" He stroked the demon's armored head— _her_ head—with what Sylvanas incredulously assumed to be sentimental, fatherly affection. Marta smiled, twisting the skin around her snout so that it looked old and crinkled and ready to be peeled off with a curious, prodding hand.

"Hey, I'm back," said Li Li glumly. Her feet dragged across the floor.

Sylvanas nodded. "No luck?"

The girl huffed and drew her brow together. "Nah, she straight up ignored me."

"And what did Gul'dan say?"

"That if she ever gets off the cart, she might gain to get some exercise and lose a few pounds and some hundred calories. She wasn't even disabled."

Sylvanas snorted. "Typical customers. This place needs to incorporate anti-tampering protocols into their vehicles that not even their manservants can bypass."

"Why need a shopping cart when you have six legs?" Azmodan said, rearing himself up to his full height. "I can go hither and thither much more quickly than those cheap, degradable engines!"

"Watching you run is like watching a spider run around the walls of a closed-up bedroom," said Sylvanas, pulling her lips back in a disgusted frown. "No one wants to see it."

Azmodan harrumphed and relaxed his legs. Marta flashed her fangs at Sylvanas, then spun around again in her seat and yelled at the other demons when they raised a second wave of honking and swearing. "Go on, get moving," the Lord of Sin told her, "before the managers get involved. I'll be with you shortly." Marta jabbered a response, pushed the gearstick forward and pressed down on the gas pedal. Her companions (and the rest of the customers behind them that had given up their attempts to push through them) threw up a cry of elation and followed after her in a slow line that snaked around the self-checkout area.

"So," Li Li began, watching them go out the door (and nearly mowed down Gul'dan in the process), "what's with all the teddy bears?"

"They're the remains of all the bad panda boys and girls who misbehave and run away only to get lost in the Nexus," said Sylvanas, matter-of-factly. "Animal preservation societies and statistical analyses across the multiverse say they're endangered, but we know better than that—it's their souls, Li Li. Instead of going on Greatfather Winter's Naughty List, they get stuffed into these croqueted, wool-stuffed bodies and watch your every waking moment with those beady little eyes, unable to move yet silently raging at their inabilities and cosmic machinations beyond their control. They're on sale for four-ninety-eight. Want one?"

Li Li sputtered laughter and rolled her eyes. "No thanks. I can just look myself in the mirror and know—for a fact—that I'm cuter than any bargain brand name teddy bear."

"You don't want to come across my domain, then," said Azmodan. "The fellows like to handle them, er, quite a bit roughly."

"How roughly are we talking?"

"Have you really stopped and watched the replays of our fights, or the live HoloVision broadcasts in and around the taverns? I had never realized until a while back how many gallons of blood a body can hold."

"That's, uh, great. G-Good to know." Li Li forced a grin and gave him a thumbs-up.

The demon in the last shopping cart grounded suddenly to a halt with a yelped as a furry white head emerged from the pile of stuffed animals. Triangular ears, black noses and eyes, a lolling pink tongue—"Woof woof!"

"Doodle!" Li Li cried. "What are you doing here?"

"Huh, so that's where he's been this whole time," said Sylvanas. "I thought I let him inside before I left the house."

"And how long ago was that?"

"About," Sylvanas checked her watch, "almost two hours."

"Holy religious and metaphysical denominations, Sylvanas! It's going to drop down tonight! His fur's not that thick!"

"And yet you overlook the space-time manipulations he's capable of. I'm more than certain he can just _warp_ himself inside where it's warm. Isn't that right, Doodle?" She leveled a knowing stare at him.

"Woof!" said Doodle, and smiled at Sylvanas. His tail poked from the mounds of fluffiness and wagged like a hummingbird in flight.

Azmodan cocked his head. "…What is this thing?" he asked. Slowly, gingerly, he moved a finger toward the puppy and stopped it just shy of his face. Doodle turned his head, sniffed it, and began to lick it.

"That's Doodle," said Li Li. "He's Sylvanas' dog. He's from another universe."

"This is a dog? He looks so…simple and…colorless…compared to the…others I have seen." His eyes were transfixed on the tiny rows of pointed teeth that were on display as Doodle curled his lips back and nibbled on the finger. "Ooh, he has quite the bite for such a little one."

"Well, he's a puppy. A—what did you call it, Sylvanas, a Samoyed? Yeah, a Samoyed, but Doctor Morales thinks he might have strains of Siberian Husky in him." Li Li shrugged. "Maybe he'll grow a silver mask when he's older. Oh, and that's his natural fur color. Kinda late for him to be anything else when he's a few months old."

Azmodan hummed thoughtfully. "Interesting," he said, and turned his hand over so that Doodle could slather the underside. Then, "A shame he's been accounted for. Perhaps he could teach the minions how to reach through the aether without coming through the receiving end of summoning teleportation as a sack of meat and bones."

"He's a reality warper, not a telepath," Sylvanas said, scoffing. "If he could talk, it'd just be about food, marking trees, and belly rubs. No different than what a normal dog thinks."

"Woof!" said Doodle, wriggling around in the pile at the sound of his master's voice.

The spot next to him shifted and all heads turned as one when another head emerged—flatter, more oval in shape, wide eyes set among smooth blue and green scales. A pair of glittering red and wings swept the teddy bears aside like an earthquake splitting the ground in two. "Brightwing can breathe again!" said the faerie dragon. "Air is very good…and very sweaty!"

"Brightwing! We haven't seen you in a while," said Li Li. "What've you been up to?"

"Brightwing got caught in Nexus portal and went on adventure across time and space! One universe was full of…'pokey men'…but they were not very nice. They tried to catch me and make me part of their collections! Brightwing ran away, but not before giving them a goodbye hug and kiss."

"So you killed them," said Sylvanas, unsurprised. "I shouldn't have expected any different from you."

"Pokey men taste like apples and licorice!"

"That sounds nasty as all get out," said Li Li, and held up the sign of the letter X with both forefingers.

Azmodan harrumphed and folded his arms across his barrel-shaped chest. "Hmph! And it was so nice and quiet here, too. I suppose you'll be here in the Nexus for the time being?"

"Forever and ever! Until the next Greater Rift pops up." Brightwing licked her lips with the bulbous end of her tongue. It wound up slapping her between the eyes, and she yelped and shook it off with a furious motion of her head. When she stopped, it was to look at Doodle, who smiled benevolently at her. "Wow! A puppy!"

"Woof!" said Doodle, and licked her upside the face.

She broke out giggling. "It's so cute! I want to keep it."

"Did you sign the adoption papers?" Sylvanas asked, eyes narrowing.

"No."

"Then you can't have him." _Oh, and welcome back, I guess,_ came the thought, and for a second she wondered if she should say it. Instead, she leaned forward, put her hand on top of Brightwing's head, and dunked the faerie dragon into the sea of teddy bears.


	31. Chapter 31

**Title:** Another Nightmare Comes Walking  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas and her living counterpart try to make sense of Zul'jin's appearance in the Nexus."  
 **Notes1:** I had just started writing this around the time the teaser GIFs for Zul'jin showed up on HotS' Facebook page, but I was very surprised that he came so soon into the game without being tested on the PTR. I bought him earlier today and broke him in on a couple matches (and, as usual and per tradition, I lost all three as of this post). Someone told me I sucked with him, and I laughed because I thought to myself 'This guy hasn't even been out a couple hours and you're already judging me based on my first match?' Ah, the stupidity of some people. (In all seriousness, Zul'jin is like a ranged Illidan, and Illidan is one of my assassin mains; I'll get the hang of him.)  
 **Notes2:** I've only read _The Golden Compass_ years ago out of the _His Dark Materials_ trilogy, and while I can't say it has massive mind screws and philosophical jargon as Ranger-General Sylvanas makes it out to be, I hope it'd make for an interesting yarn to read when I actually get around to it on my reading backlog someday. However, I do have a fascination with philosophy and used to go about different websites looking up the variety of conspiracy theories and world and universe-ending scenarios, which would kind of explain my love for post-apocalyptic and dystopian fiction. (I really don't like zombie stories too much, though; they're about as generic as battle school/harem anime.)  
 **Notes3:** This is just one of those drabbles that really shows just how much my mind wanders and just goes with the flow sometimes. I used to take Paxil in my teens to treat my depression, so when I look back on it now I can't be sure whether or not some of my more outlandish ideas came from a burgeoning imagination or the meds doing their thing.  
 **Notes4:** I wasn't going to bring back Ataraxas for this chapter at first, mainly because I don't want to instill it with a sense of fatigue as I did with dragging out the previous chapter, but I liken the idea of bringing that OC and the others back into the fold eventually when the chapter calls for it. Let's face it, Doodle's got everyone beat by a mile because he's an Undertale OC and a dog. Not many people can resist the cuteness of a time-warping, possibly ageless puppy dog.  
 **Notes5:** And, as far as work goes: my hours have been cut back slightly with the holidays now out of the way, but I'll still be pulling eight-nine hour shifts with the recent firings I've heard talk about in the past week. I might be able to focus on and squeeze in another drabble by this coming Monday when I have another day off, but that's counting on it not being ridiculously long like some of the others have turned out to be.

* * *

"God hates me," said the Banshee Queen Sylvanas.

"No, God hates me," the Ranger-General Sylvanas corrected her. "God gave you Arthas and four other variants to stare in the face for every day you spend your life here in the Nexus."

"No, you're wrong. God gave me everyone and resurrective immortality to rage about."

"Hey, God gave me that, too, you know. God gave everyone that. Well, except, you know—"

"Yes, those people." The Banshee Queen nodded. "I used to think being immortal would be great. It wasn't until I entered the Nexus and had Uther make the standard introductions did I learn it is not the greatest thing in the universe when everyone, their dog, and their ancestor has it!" She spat this last sentence out as though it tasted vile.

The Ranger-General shrugged. "I can't say the same, because I never had to deal with Arthas. You see, while God gave you him, his variants, and everything under the sun to inflict crimes of vehicular and physical description and vitriolic abuse to vent your frustrations, I was given _this_." She gestured at the steel-forged axe embedded into the base of the tree. There was a caricature of the Lich King Arthas on a sheet of paper that had been split in two from where the axe had been thrown. As much as the Banshee Queen loathed him, she had come to find it very tiring (and boring) that anyone, and any Hero, who didn't have a beef with him suddenly declared him Target Number One of the Highest Priority. If they were looking to get a laugh out of her, it didn't work; not anymore. "I wonder what sector the Powers will pull Zul'jin from. Hopefully not during his imprisonment."

Sylvanas shrugged. "Where I come from he lived a few more years. He had heard about the Fall, about the high elves renaming themselves Sin'dorei and joining Thrall's Horde, and decided it was as good a time as any to try again." She sniffed. "He failed. Big time." Yet some trolls, especially those among the Revantusk tribe, fervently believed he was not dead but _missing_ , he would _return_ and bring the Amani the glory and power that was their birthright at their peak so very long ago. They were such utter morons. "If you're lucky, maybe They'll yank him from a point in time where he lost the ability to regenerate his eye and arm. Disabled targets are much easier to put down."

The other Sylvanas frowned. "Not even a leg? Bah. Just my luck. The Powers truly hate me. Us. I don't know. They hate us with equal measure, maybe more than God."

"I suppose so." The Banshee Queen's ears flicked. "Wait, which god are we talking about? We keep talking about god in the singular, Christian sense."

The Ranger-General lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I guess. You kind of started it. I just went along with it."

"Who did you think I was talking about? One of the Powers?"

"At first."

"Well, who exactly would hate us more than—"

"Ra," they echoed at the same time, the Ranger-General tacking it on with a roll of her eyes.

"I don't know. The Gravekeeper and the Raven Lord, maybe? They always seem to be snide whenever we fight for one or the other at the Towers."

"Eh, the Gravekeeper sees me more a little more favorably, given what I did to all those ravens a few months back."

"This was before Medivh, right? Or was that after?"

"Before."

"That still feels so wrong. What you did to the birds, I mean. And Morales' ship."

"Doodle ate well that day."

"I guess he burned all that weight off with all that warping he does. Anyway, the Raven Lord can't hate us both equally because you've already earned his ire. What about…what were their names again…Ilarian and Beleth?"

"If Ilarian is anything to go by, then he doesn't have a stick up his ass for fighting under a demon lord like Tyrael said Imperius would have if he were ever to be summoned here. On the other hand, Beleth doesn't care; he just wants a good fight."

"If you call an eternal stalemate a 'good fight', then by all means." Both default and variant cracked a smile and a snicker.

"Does it really matter who hates us?" the undead Sylvanas postulated. "Half the Powers have been at war with each other for millennia and the other half either fights on our behalf, against the Realm of Shadows, or anyone and anything that follows the Riftwalkers through the Greater Rifts."

"Maybe the universe is not a person but an idea," said the living Sylvanas. "An omnipresent, omniscient quantum equation that has little to no regard for the morality and emotional wellbeing of its seeded applicants that traverse the land, the seas, the skies, and the stars across the space-time continuum. An equation that is right and wrong and just does."

The Banshee Queen stared at her with a blank expression slowly breaking into curiosity and exasperation. "You've been reading _His Dark Materials_ again, haven't you?"

"Of a sort," the other answered, matter-of-factly. "Metaphysics really knows how to wrap and strangle the mind. You should try reading the textbooks sometimes. Some of them are outdated, but they're very interesting. You know: Descartes, Heidegger, Confucius. Not as run of the mill as your beloved post-apocalyptic fiction. There's only so much you can tell in a zombie story before it starts getting redundant."

"Sometimes I just want to see the world burn. At least in my imagination," said the Banshee Queen. "Ragnaros would do well to do the same. Have you heard he's already on probation?"

"You mean other than turning Kael'thas into a Roman candle again? No, I didn't. What happened?"

"Evening, ladies," said a rough, masculine voice, and the two Sylvanases turned to see Rexxar approaching. Misha lumbered behind him, black nose snuffling. One look at the undead elf and the bear's eyes narrowed distastefully. "Heard there was quite the crowd here earlier. Something about an axe."

"No, it's your death warrant," said the Banshee Queen. "It says here that if you chant Salt 'n' Peppa's 'Whatta Man' under this tree three times when the blue hour strikes, a lesser rift will open and drag you into the Spaces In Between, where the Cow King will rock your world so hard your soul will be blasted from your body and will hurdle through dimensions for all eternity."

The living Sylvanas tried not to gawk incredulously at her, so the expression came off as a sour grimace. "Why does that sound familiar?"

Rexxar snorted. "Go look up Stephen King next time you're at the Grand Nexus Library. It's…a bit more creative than what you usually come up with, but much too bodacious. Not even horrific. Get good, girl." The undead Sylvanas responded with a severe scowl. Rexxar moved forward and both women stepped aside to allow the half-orc and his beast closer for a better look. He nodded knowingly and ran his fingers along the axe's handle. "Pretty heavy. Strong. Don't think it's ironwood; probably something similar to it." His nostrils flared once, twice. "Smells pretty rank, too. I think a bear pissed on it."

Both Sylvanases yelped and recoiled away in horror, wiping their hands on their leggings. Misha huffed and looked at her master with hooded eyes. _Really?_ she seemed to ask him.

Rexxar grinned. "I'm kidding. It's just troll sweat. Still pretty nasty, though, so that means he was here a while ago. Wonder if he'll find his way to the Board."

"Well he can stay lost for all I care," said the Banshee Queen. "Or be at home. Why shack up in a crowded dorm when you can climb up a tree and call it home? Forest trolls are basically your domestic cats on two legs. With moss instead of skin. And mumbo-jumbo voodoo regeneration." She scowled. "Cats are dicks enough as it is. We don't need them transitioning and becoming immortal like he probably is right now."

"Thanks for reminding me," the Ranger-General grumbled. " _Goddammit_." She glared at the grass carpeting the base of the tree and scuffed with a foot.

"Maybe this _is_ his home," Rexxar grunted. "Could've put his axe here to let people know. That it's claimed. Although that doesn't explain what a doodle of Arthas is doing here, of all places. Did you do that, Sylvanas?"

"Hell no," the undead elf responded right away, when he looked her way. "I'd have put a bull's-eye on it if I did. Devil horns, too. Oh, and one of those swirly mustaches you see villains sporting from the really old cartoons from the 1940's. Maybe even a tongue—"

"Yeah, that's great. Thing is, he might come back for the axe later, and how do you think he'll react when he sees you on his turf, eh?"

"What do you mean 'us'? You're on his turf, too!" said the Ranger-General.

"I don't have much to worry about," he said, shrugging. "I'm part orc, part ogre. Both of you are elves. Forest trolls can't stand your kind, right? Makes more sense for Vol'jin—"

" _Zul'jin_ ," the Banshee Queen corrected him, forcing the word out between her teeth.

"One'jin, Two'jin, Super Saiya-jin, whatever his name is. He's going to be angry at you. Maybe he'll rally all the trolls that are from some off-shoot universe of Azeroth or another universe that has trolls and wage war against the Azeroth elves and the not-elves." He paused. "Huh. Now that I mention it, it makes me wonder how the hell the Nexus isn't fundamentally bankrupt from all the wars going on for so long. Like, how has Jeetilopolis not been nuked with their constant power struggles and fluctuating stock markets?"

"Tourism. Celebrity names competing in the League. Sponsorships and charities. Potluck dinners. Discovery of lost, ancient technologies and resources the mainstream media and self-professed experts claim are 'new' and 'unnatural'." The living Sylvanas ticked off on one hand, then dropped it to her side and gave Rexxar an unamused stare. "The freaking lotteries."

"Oh, I hate those things," said the undead Sylvanas, upper lip curling. "It's like Black Friday, Blacker Saturday, and Blackest Sunday all rolled up in one."

"Money is one helluva drug."

"Well, anyway," said Rexxar, "he'll come back when he realizes he's a weapon short. Unless he's got a hold of some of that Hammer-Space at one of those gas stations or podunks out in the boonies. I mean, how do you think I throw all those axes when I carry just two?"

"That's if he even _knows_ what a gas station is," the Banshee Queen scoffed with a roll of her eyes. The warm-blooded Sylvanas snorted and folded her arms over her chest, grinning wolfishly.

Rexxar looked miffed. "Okay, so let's say he does get lost. He might wind up going all the way to Galadhos or hit up an Anchor Gate and, uh, accidentally transport himself to one of those pre-Luxorian ruins. You never know!"

"The mainland ruins are nowhere near as steeped in shadowtaint than the ruins here," she said. "Even when the masses are at their most idiotic, they're usually under lock and key by the regional sultanates. And what interest would he have in Galadhos? After what happened the last time we were there, Fardon got the whole Association to revise their entire hiring process and double down on the background checks."

"If you had just let me keep everything, it wouldn't have come to that," Rexxar said in a low, dangerous rumble.

"I couldn't give a damn about the rest of those artifacts, but that was Thas'dorah, dammit! _Thas'dorah_. And it's because of you the thing got sucked into a Rift!"

"Well I hope it went to Mexico so that little girl with the talking map can actually stop talking and whoop some ass for once in her life!"

"Even though I don't care who started it, it was still wrong of you to deny my counterpart her heirloom," the Ranger-General calmly put forward. "Why didn't you take that one weapon instead? What was it again, Sylvanas? A talking axe?"

"Ataraxas, I think."

"Yeah, that. Why didn't you take that instead, Rexxar?"

"Uh…look at me?" he said, patting down the twin axes—and the cans of Hammer-Space—strapped to his massive belt. "I dual wield. Ataraxas was a large, double-headed two-hander. What use would I have for it? I'd lose sleep over listening to it rambling about its true form or how it might try to possess me or Misha and go around the Shire slaughtering people and harvesting souls from the Gravekeeper for whatever nefarious, New Wave fiction-styled purpose it has in store. Some drivel like that."

"Whatever happened to those artifacts, anyway?" asked the living Sylvanas.

"Last I heard, almost all of them were corrupted when they sent the Realm Knights and a bunch of suits in to clear the area and bring them back to decontaminate and purify," said the undead Sylvanas. She made a twirling motion in the air with her hand, scowling, as though she was attempting to dispel the aforementioned image from memory. "It's…going to be a while before we're allowed to traverse Galadhos unimpeded—and unsupervised—again."

"Didn't the NIB, the Hubland Border Patrol, and the Realm Knights slap you with an arrest on sight warrant if you step one thousand feet within Galadhos when they took you into custody? On top of charging you with first-degree murder outside of a sanctioned League match before you got out on bail?"

The Banshee Queen stared blankly back at her. "Has a piece of paper or an email ever stopped me before?" Her counterpart only balked and shook her head. Misha made a soft, knowing groan and licked her lips.

Rexxar put a hand to his chin and looked past the two high elves, in the direction where he thought Galadhos lay. "Huh…Wonder if they managed to get that thing outta that cabinet."

* * *

Somewhere far away from Galadhos, locked away in a thrice-reinforced antechamber in the Starless Depths, Ataraxas howled and made another dent in the systems. It rattled in its bonds and raged, cursing the Powers, the Knights that tore it from its high and harried it away through the Anchor Gate, and the Hero that had to be hauled off the heathen beastman's broken form when they tore through the spatial fabricks at the onset of the bursting corruption. It made the nearby monks keeping watch over it jump and bend over their clasped hands and smoldering unguents, mumbling hasty prayers and suppressant incantations in geometric shapes comprised from _magicka obscura_. The anti-tampering protocols contained therein kicked in and went to work.


	32. Chapter 32

**Title:** The War No One Wanted  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas gets caught up in the latest hero brawl."  
 **Notes1:** Inspired by the "Mage Wars" Hero Brawl that just (or is going to, at the midnight hour that I'm typing this out) ended today. I want to do more chapters for the previous brawls, such as "Hammer Time" and "Ghost Protocol". Brawls like "Punisher Arena" and "Silver City" would only be the same thing (mindless mayhem) and would be pretty boring.  
 **Notes2:** I was working on _How Does That Even Work?_ Chapter 3, but this kind of overtook it for the past two days when the idea germinated and hung on like a leech until I had it finished. Oh well. Focus deviates sometimes.  
 **Notes3:** I mean no disrespect to my fellow authors that ship particular pairings, but I will never, ever take Sylvanas/Kael'thas seriously. It makes me laugh instead of scoff as I'm usually wont to do at crack pairings that don't make sense and don't try to make it realistically work. Then again, every female pairing with Sylvanas wouldn't work in canon but that doesn't stop people from shipping her with others or with female OCs because, well, minus the undead condition writers and readers find her hot. Her relationship with Nathanos Blightcaller is ambiguous at best regardless of the new model he's got and the teasing that one Dark Ranger gives the PC in WoW, so unless there's confirmation straight from Blizzard's mouth, yeah, I'm going straight harem/not-harem route with Sylvanas. I was even going to throw Tracer in, too, but the Reflections comic threw a wrench in it and I'm not keen on NTR just for the sake of it or for padding the numbers (looking at you, Naruto). Man, am I glad I didn't go through with it. You could burn a lot of food with all those flames.

* * *

Sylvanas was just about to go onto the next page when the flash of light occurred, tossing everyone's shadows into stark relief and lighting up the café in a brilliant, festive flare. At that point, all conversation ceased and all heads turned to look out the windows of the entrance. Sylvanas paused and looked with them, and sighed.

A mushroom cloud loomed over the horizon, and above that, higher in the skies, a swirling vortex of sickly green crackling with lightning. A Felstorm. She saw the clouds underneath it come tumbling down like watercolor point and was reminded of how a storm looked when it was passing through an area far, far away.

The storm was the color of sand, and Sylvanas wondered how many Chromies were running around this time.

The drinking glass beside the book began to shake. So did the book. So did the hanging framed pictures of Luxoria's various ruins and oases and still life paintings and the silverware on the tables and counters and the overhead lights and chandeliers.

There was a low, quaking _boom_ , and then the second mushroom cloud rose up to join its companion. And then another. Sylvanas blinked and squinted. She ground her teeth and slammed her fist on the table. Those two weren't mushroom clouds; those were _phoenixes_.

The window cracked once, twice. The framing groaned.

By now, everyone was rifling through their rune bags and backpacks and utility belts and pulling out Hammer-Space bottles and DynoCap boxes to unscrew and unlatch. Sylvanas detached one from its scroll on her thigh, suppressed the trigger, and caught the Reverse Grav-O-Matic badge before it hit the floor. She slapped it to her breastplate and touched a finger to the red button in the center, activating the magnetic rebounding shield. She still felt naked as she did without it.

Then the air raid sirens went off, short, loud whoops, and the windows and the walls to the bistro blew out in a fantastic, earsplitting blast. Debris bounced off the invisible shields around her and the other patrons even as they struggled to get up off the floor and push away fallen beams and detritus pinning them down. Some of them were helped to their feet and limped as they hustled outside, some had blood dribbling from cuts on their faces and limbs, but they were none the worse for wear.

Not for the first time, as she reformed from the banshee wave, Sylvanas thought they were too calm, too desensitized, to the situation that was about to unfold. Even the voice speaking through the city-wide speakers, the ones whose power was knocked out by the influx of arcane energies, was unfazed. "OKAY, EVERYONE, YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO. SCREAM YOUR HEADS OFF. RUN AROUND LIKE CHILDREN. IT'LL BE OVER IN A FEW MINUTES. IT'S JUST A HERO BRAWL." Then, mumbling under his breath (and probably not realizing, or caring, the mike was still on): "…I don't get paid enough for this…."

That was exactly what the denizens of New Scuttle Town did. They threw their hands up in the air and ran willy-nilly, shouting from the depths of their lungs with what Sylvanas concluded was a mixture of very bad acting and reluctant conviction to put at least some heart into it. She brushed plaster from an arm, adjusted her cloak, and walked out of the bistro's skeleton just in time to see some guy look both ways before hurling himself over an upturned wagon with a bunch of cabbages on the ground. Some other man ran past a row of wicker baskets and stare wide-eyed at the guy groaning and clutching a wounded leg to his chest. "Uh…! Uh…! What was it again? Oh…right! _MY CABBAGES!_ " he shrieked, and then he was off and running, yelling abhorrently. Sylvanas shook her head.

She walked to the middle of the bazaar, where most of the adobe buildings were mere, toothy stubs and the tents tossed aside like sullied garbage bags. She grimaced as she noticed she almost stepped on a squashed tomato and crept hither and thither through the spilled produce and pieces of shattered ceramic and earthenware that once were pots and plates. They could've been anything, now that she thought about it.

The earth trembled, and Sylvanas hopped and skipped away just as it split in twain and yawned through the market and away from her. Toward the site of the brawl, as her gaze followed the jagged line.

Crystalline spiders of cerulean and ruby quartz crawled out of the fissure in swarms, clicking their mandibles. They were followed by their larger, fleshier brethren in ornate yet tattered robes, skin hanging from their bones, moaning and chittering in an insectile language she couldn't comprehend. They shuffled past her and continued mindlessly on the pathway or crawled up the remnants of still standing walls.

A pair of hands emerged from the crack: one pale and tacked on with long, black, sharpened nails that would make a wild cat jealous, and another large, green, and mottled with sores. Both Kael'thas and Gul'dan pulled themselves up, heads together and shoving each other with the unseen hands. Sylvanas noted they were clones by the three interlapping hexagons—the symbol of the Nexus—on their foreheads and the blue-purple nanorite coursing through their veins. It gave them an uncanny, alien appearance.

Finally they acquiesced and climb over the lip of the sheer and arose. Clone-Gul'dan doubled over with his hands on his knees, wheezing long and hard. "This…isn't…over! Over my…immortally reincarnating…body…will you have…my… _gems!_ " He coughed and hacked on the final word and spat out a wad of phlegm. He wiped a hand across his mouth, grimacing at the uncouth display.

Clone-Kael'thas sniffed and coughed dust and sand. His chest heaved with exertion. "Maybe not…but A'lar can."

"What?" Clone-Gul'dan straightened up, and then the phoenix's talons clamped down on his shoulders. He had a second to see his shadow fly away from him before he was raised up, up and away into Luxoria's skies. _"GODDAMMIT!"_ he roared. Clone-A'lar cawed triumph and beat his wings harder, whirled around and flew back toward the ensuing Felstorm. Sylvanas watched it grow smaller—the size of a frigate, the harvest moon, the sun at twilight—and then, as though a fist clenched itself closed, it snuffed out.

Clone-Kael'thas tipped his head back, barking laughter. "You hunchbacked, liver-spotted senior citizen! Your time is long past! There is no greater mage in the world than I! Get too close to the sun and you burn! But not this fellow, oh no! Here in the realm of near-eternal sunshine and oceans galore, I…Am…GOD!" He emphasized this with a grand upsweep of his arms.

"No, you're an idiot," said Sylvanas. "Just like your default and the rest of the Three Stooges."

Clone-Kael'thas turned around and gave her a disapproving look, as though he were regarding a child. "I see, it is you," he said, sounding bored. "Don't you ever get tired of being…how do I put this…a bitch?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"I will never get tired of calling you out for the clown you are, clone or no clone."

He frowned, and she resisted the reflex to punch it clean off his face. Or maybe his head off his shoulders. "A pity. One of you is simply enough for the Board to handle. But an army of you? Especially when the machines are randomly generated? That is a not-so cozy catastrophe waiting to happen."

Neither could she imagine the utter mayhem that would come about having an army of Kael'thases around. Ragnaros would surely conquer the Nexus in no time. She wondered how much good Nazeebos would do with the populace, weighed the consequences of having a pocket universe finally coming to grips with this thing called sanity that could be considered almost laughably revolutionary or a deeper, downward spiral into madness that would make Nicolas Cage's chewing the scenery amateur acting, and came to the conclusion that she'd rather not venture further. A bunch of Jainas would become a diabetic nightmare Walt Disney would be proud of and the Li-Mings would plunge the Nexus into an economic, ecological apocalypse.

The Chromies would probably cause the universe to undergo a Big Crunch, depending on how much and how badly they tampered with the rifts. Or maybe they'd lead everyone into a new golden age where people could actually die for once and stay dead.

"So how would you prefer to die, then?" she asked. "Hypothetically. Say the no point of return existed."

Clone-Kael'thas lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "With a smile on my face, the wind through this glorious lion's mane, and the sun on my face. Mayhap a nice hearth shall keep me warm, with a blanket on my lap, a glass of red wine on the table, and a book of classic literature in my hands, turned to the final page. There will be skylarks twittering outside the bedroom window with a warm summer breeze upon the air, tinged with sweet scent of bloodthistle, apple, and women's perfume, as they dance gaily upon the cobblestones to the strumming of Dandelion's lute." He smiled sadly. "I should wonder if that will be the way my default shall go. Quiet, and in peace."

Sylvanas snorted, trying not to laugh. "Okay. And, just out of curiosity, what do you suppose the last sentence of the last page reads? Remember that these are the final words you will ever look upon before your eyes close forevermore."

"Hmm…a good question. I had never put much though into that. Maybe… _Elu'meniel mal alann_? A fitting phrase for a noble creature."

"I don't see it that way."

"Oh? What do you think it would be?"

"Bye, Felicia," and Sylvanas planted her boot squarely on his chest and kicked him backward, into the pit. She got a glimpse of his arms pinwheeling, his hair defying gravity, and then he was gone.

" _YOU TRAITOR!"_ he howled. A cavernous, yawning sound cut the final syllable short, as though closing down him as a set of jaws. Sylvanas pat herself on the back and considered it a job well done, wondering and then immediately discarding the possibility that she thought she heard crunching noises being made in the darkness.

The earth bucked again and violently exploded. A Clone-Jaina in a Winter Veil robe and a Clone-Nazeebo in his harlequin attire emerged—the former caught in a viselike grip in the gargantuan, undead jester, the latter getting the breath crushed from him in the snowman's bear hug.

"You go now…to the judgment of Countess von Kerrigan!" Clone-Nazeebo gasped, and the jester stomped at something unseen beneath it. Sylvanas peeked at the fissure and saw a long, spindly spider's leg trying to gain a foothold on the ledge.

"Those gems are not yours!" said Clone-Jaina. "What Neithis wants, Neithis gets!"

"You shall not pry them from me!" he declared, and swung the bejeweled skull dangling from its chain at her.

Clone-Jaina ducked and it whistled overhead. "Then pay your dues to Charon at the River Styx!" She raised her staff and smashed it across his face. The grinning mask shattered and teeth flew in white, stubby flecks.

The Webweaver lurched up, bare-chested and proud yet stone-faced in her gilded crown and jewelry. She plunged one hand into the back of the snowman's head, another snagged onto the back of the gargantuan's puffy collar, and with a strength that belied the two clones combines yanked _down_. Clone-Jaina was in mid-swing, the force of the momentum causing her to let it fly from her grasp. Clone-Nazeebo's crystal skull smacked against her chin, and then they were both yelling, cursing, as the Webweaver fled back into the tombs.

Sylvanas stared as the earth pushed itself back into place and sealed the crack shut. She thumbed her nose and turned back to the Felstorm. The sheet of sand and fire was gone, but now when thunder was beating upon the site as literal solid spikes bearing down on the battlefield. The clouds were darker, larger, more green and ominous. It seemed to be moving faster.

She looked to her right and saw as another Clone-Jaina, wearing the Bronze Dragonflight's Tempest Regalia and sporting that bizarre blue skin—and a Clone-Chromie in the form of her Fel Queen variant leapt from rooftop to rooftop, lobbing spells (and hourglasses) at each other. A mass of sand in the shape of a bronze drake slammed at the spot where Tempest-Jaina had just stood crashed through the bathhouse's domed roof.

She looked to her left and saw a Clone-Kael'thas in his Cyberhawk get-up ('the clown suit' or 'the Gatchaman cosplay', Sylvanas sometimes called it) try to form a Pyroblast while a Clone-Gul'dan in spider-themed Firelands attire rained fel-tinged fireballs from the heavens. Cyberhawk-Kael'thas unleashed his Pyroblast just as a Clone-Li-Ming in her Star Princess uniform used her Wave of Force spell to send him and his torn limbs tumbling ass over kettle into the gift shop. Balespider-Gul'dan unfurled a gout of fel flame and Star Princess-Li-Ming cast a growing arcane orb at the same time, yet both sailed past the other by a hair's-breadth and incinerated the opposition into ashes and nanorite dust.

She looked in front of her and caught Nova of the Skovos Isle as she ran full tilt into her. The force almost knocked them to the ground. "What the hell's wrong with you?!" Sylvanas asked her, shaking her roughly and shouting to be heard over the peeling thunder. "Don't you see what's going on?"

"Where's Shantae?"

"Who?"

"SHANTAE! YOU KNOW, THE HALF-GENIE! THE ONE WITH THAT WEIRD MARK ON HER CHEST!"

"Oh, that one. She went to another realm. Something about negotiating with Gucchaga's sultan at a pro-zombie rights rally."

"Just our luck for her to go help others at a time like this!"

"Idiot, this is a sanctioned brawl! You know people like her can't get involved in the League period!"

"Then what do we do, wait it out?"

"It's the only thing we can do!"

"LET SYLVANAS GO!" cried a female voice, and bracing each other against the wind Sylvanas and Nova of Skovos looked up to see Li-Ming, the default, pointing her source-empowered wand at the Amazon.

Nova sneered. "It's long since been settled, Li-Ming! Why can't you accept it as I and my other selves have?"

"Oh bologna, you know you're not satisfied with the results, either!"

Sylvanas blinked. "Wait, what are we talking about— _Oh_. Oh, come on, _really_? You two are still going on about the whole harem thing?" She expelled air from her nostrils. "For the last time, and don't you dare make me repeat myself or Isendra help me strike your proud ass into glass, I have not and never will call any of you crazy bitches my harem—"

"It's a harem whether you like it or not!" said Li-Ming. "Ask around, and ten out of ten peasants and a hundred out of one hundred nobles will tell you that you, and all your variants that will come after you, have a harem! You have a mind-bogglingly unexplainable yet undeniable attraction that draws the best and the worst out of us, the expected and the unexpected of all womenfolk the realms over! It's crack that makes you whack!"

"You were past whack the day we first met!"

"And I wouldn't have it any other way! Screw the rules, I'm a bloody wizard and proud of it!" she declared for all of New Scuttle Town to hear. The only participant to give response were the wind, the thunder, the arcane explosions and chattering undead and the still unconvincingly horrified citizenry. The sirens had long since gone silent, having been destroyed by the fighting. "But second-best? Oh no, Li-Ming of Caldeum doesn't settle for second-best. Li-Ming of Caldeum settles for NUMBER ONE! Li-Ming settles for BEST GIRL and ONLY BEST GIRL!"

"Dark-haired girls win all the time!" said Nova of Skovos. "Look at your anime and manga and tell me when was the last time a significant blonde heroine considered won and best? That's right, you can't!"

"There was _Nisekoi_ —" Sylvanas tried to add in.

"You lot've have had your fun!" Nova pushed on. "It's time for us blondes to rise to the occasion and claim what's ours! Mine's! Theirs! Whoever's!" She sputtered. "D-Doesn't matter, my default was here first, anyway! Get in line like the rest of us!"

"Not a chance!" said Li-Ming, and she teleported off the building and onto ground level, stomping toward Sylvanas and the variant with a storm in her eyes and fury in her hands. She stuck her wand right in front of Nova's face.

The Amazon shoved it aside. "You're in a brawl! You lay a hand on me and that's a mark on your record, missy!"

Li-Ming threw her arms up in the air. "Ugh, big deal! Whoever said cleanliness is next to godliness needs to get their head checked! Not like the Houses are paying much attention to this when there's a giant Felstorm getting ready to blow any second!" As if waiting for its cue, a refurbished House Nerod eyebot (with the sword and bifurcated cog symbol of the Brotherhood Outcasts painted over in green and black) hovered into view, stopped, and spun around so that its wide, blank screen showed their reflections. Something small and round seemed to zoom in on them from within its chassis. It clicked once.

Nova's mouth twitched. Sylvanas stared blankly. Li-Ming scowled. The wand lashed out and smashed into the screen. The eyebot dropped to the ground.

"As I was saying," she reiterated, "we're settling this. Right here, right now!"

Nova grinned and clenched her fist, unsheathing the blade from her gauntlet. She placed the tip underneath Li-Ming's chin. "If that's what you want, then by all means—!"

" _LOOK OUT! IT'S GONNA BLOW!"_ said a pedestrian tearing ass passed them. Sylvanas looked up and sensed her ears, heart, stomach, and the rest of her that didn't function metaphorically fall.

The eye of the Felstorm flashed white and green and blue at a seizure-inducing pace. The clouds were gathered in a bunch so tight all the light was extinguished from the sky, save for the paper-thin silhouette of a beam connecting storm to earth where presumably one of the Clone-Gul'dan's had mustered the mana and dark powers to summon it. Sylvanas wondered if it was possible for the Realm of Darkness to breach the aether and claim the tombs of the Spider Queen as an extension of the Shadowskirts, only to remember that the Realm Knights always warded the brawl sites' regions for these exact moments.

She wished they were here right now so they could put an end to this miserable take of their lives. And to get away from these insane, obsessive—

The Felstorm erupted. The light expanded and swallowed their shadows whole.

Thunder rained. Big, solid pieces.

One of them rocketed right toward them.

Sylvanas sighed in defeat and held out hands. Nova of Skovos took one and Li-Ming took the other.

The thunderbolt hit home.

* * *

Something beeped methodically.

Everything was blurry, slowly filling with color and regaining shape.

"Well, look who's back! Again!" That voice…so chipper and feminine…and bereft of the tinny echo that accompanied a working communications speaker. Not Nova…she'd on her in an instant. Not that Spectre variant, either…she was the textbook definition of _tsundere_.

Hammer? No…why in Darkness would she think that? She wasn't part of the harem. None of them were. Which left….

Sylvanas stirred to wakefulness and was blinded by the light. She groaned and turned her head away, clenching her teeth. "Swear to Darkness, Morales, if you don't move that in the next two seconds, I'll…." she began, but it came forth in a drunken slur and she was too distracted blinking sunspots from her eyes to venture further.

"Oh, sorry!" There was a click, and the damned light went off. Morales, dressed not in her suit but a white coat and jeans, grinned at her bleary face. "Morning, sunshine!"

"Piss up a creek, Rosie."

Morales laughed. "Good to know you're okay! You see, Shantae? She's alright. The Hall of Storms always brings 'em back to one hundred percent."

Shantae? Ah, yes, her. The foreigner. With a bit of effort, Sylvanas sat up in bed and regarded the other occupant in the room. A little older than Li Li but tall and leanly built with pointed ears not unlike an elf's but most certainly human, the half-genie looked out of place with her purple tank top and red vest and yoga pants. A mauve bandana with a cartoonish skull and crossbones adorned her head where a curtain of equally mauve hair fell down her back in a messy ponytail. The two black, segmented circles stamped above the swell of her breasts reminded Sylvanas of her place among the Nexus social hierarchy: more influential than a citizen but less important but no more powerful than a Hero.

Shantae crossed her arms, covering the sigil. "Then why confine them here if they're fully recovered? Could it be...?"

Morales nodded. "Right. The Nexus is host to a lot of abnormalities that isn't documented as originating from the Administered Universes selected by the Powers. Aether fever, transition overload and exhaustion, shadowtaint intoxication, memory loss, missing limbs upon resurrection, parasitism—we keep them here for however long the Hero's out just to make sure they're physically and mentally competent to be released and back onto the field."

"And this…heart monitor thingamajig…how is it working if her heart isn't, you know…."

"Oh, that's not a heart monitor. It's a neural resonator. It picks up arcane, fel, and necromantic signal patterns from the brain, where the soul of a person is usually…most of the time…attached to. You look a bit lost, so I'll sum it up like this: it picks up magic in the brain instead of the heartbeat, and that's how we tell the undead person is, well, alive. Sounds no different from a heart monitor, so, uh, yeah, I can understand the confusion."

"That makes more sense. Thanks, Doc. I'm glad you're okay," Shantae told Sylvanas. "I heard about what happened."

"People like to stretch the truth," Sylvanas shrugged, and winced. Phantom pain; that would fade in time. "Which one did you hear?"

"All of them. Everyone's so…eloquent?"

"Hyperbolic, more like."

"Yeah, that."

"How are Li-Ming and Nova of Skovos Isle doing?"

"They're recovering in the next room over," said Lieutenant Morales. "They've been dozing on and off since they first woke, so they should up shortly for a prognosis…and probably a visitation from New Scuttle Town's state police services. A brawl participant picking a fight against a non-participant is against the rules and liable for a breach of contract citation."

"Don't get me started on that," Sylvanas grumbled, lightly tapping the back of her bandaged head against the headrest.

Morales smirked. "No need. I got the gist of it."

"You sure know how to cause trouble even when you don't want to," said Shantae, unfolding her arms. The sigil stood out on her skin like a misplaced third eye. Sylvanas had the maturity and the wherewithal to not stare at it.

"I just wanted to get out. Enjoy a bit of peace and quiet regardless of the…interesting dialogue and diversity I come across while traversing realms. Everyone's getting ready for the Global Championships next week, but I can't immerse myself in good fiction when they're making such a racket. I knew this past week's brawl has strictly revolved around mages, but I didn't think it was going on right beneath us. I didn't think I was going to get that chaotic and cause that much destruction, so pardon me bedside manners if I feel like tearing through your home turf a second time for some much-needed de-stressing." Sylvanas sulked and tried not to stare at her hand, which was picking and toying with a part of the bed grimaced. "Yeah, uh, about that."

"About what?"

"The destruction thing. The sultan wanted me to pass on a message to you."

She quailed at the fury morphing the Banshee Queen's features like metal slowly being melted. "I am not helping pay restitution for something I had no part in! What do these people take me for, a carpenter?"

"With how much you've repaired, you might as well be given a degree!" Morales cackled good-naturedly.

"And yet they can't ask the competing Houses to fork over some of their 'hard-earned' cash? Get Li-Ming to do it; her bank account's fatter than Cho'Gall and Azmodan combined! She disobeyed brawl conduct! Hell, have Nova help her! Get her off her feet for once instead of always looking to spend _quality senpai-kouhai time_ with me!"

Shantae clapped her hands together and bowed low. "Please, Lady Sylvanas, just this once and I won't ask again! Besides, I could use a Hero to help me clear out the local bounty boards. I thought the Cacklebats back home were strong but this universe has creepy beasts and dastardly villains unlike anything I've ever seen! This might be my toughest challenge yet! I don't think my powers are going to be enough!"

"Can't you just get them to dance? Isn't dance not called the language of life?"

"I've tried. They don't understand and chase me away!"

"Then the only dance you should give your malcontents is the dance of death! And if you feel squeamish about murder, then dance on them until they're beat into submission! A coma! A vegetative state!"

"That's even worse!"

"Then I'm going to teach you a thing or two about taking names and their pocket change." Sylvanas threw the sheet off and got out of bed. She sneered at the open hospital gown covering her chainmail armor, ripped it off and tossed it behind her. She noticed her bow leaning against the nearby windowsill but not her quiver or her utility belts. "Where are my belongings, Morales?" she asked.

"In the lockbox," she said. "Don't worry, I deactivated the safeguards when your neural activity stabilized. When are you heading out?"

"As soon as the youngling tells me where and who we're hitting up," she said, watching the container's lid split apart and unfold to reveal her things on spring-loaded metal plates. She snatched the quiver and cinched it across her breastplate and one by one hooked the belts on her person."You mean you'll help?!" Shantae all but squealed.

Sylvanas cringed at the barely contained excitement in her voice. Good grief, _another_ Nova. Just how many people like her were there wandering the realms? "Don't push your luck. I'm only doing this so your sultan gets off my back and you don't become a sniveling mess." Finished, she stalked up to the half-genie, clapped a hand on her shoulder and forced her to face the door. "Morales, I'll send the coordinates to our current location. When Nova and Li-Ming wake up, send them to the nearest transponder. I want them with me where I can see them. We don't need those baseborn sloths for help."

Morales smiled. "As you say."

Shantae looked fit to burst and made to reach around and embrace Sylvanas. " _Thank yooooouuu!_ "

Sylvanas put her hand on the girl's face and gently pushed her off. "Please don't. I don't do hugs."

Shantae gasped. "You did the running gag! Did you hear that, Doc? She did the—"

"Yeah, I heard," Morales laughed. "You'll get that a lot. It means she likes you."

"As if," Sylvanas muttered.

"Oh, you're nothing like the people say!" Shantae was saying as they were going out the door. "I thought you were going to be another Risky, and maybe you are since you're hard as a jawbreaker, but deep down I'll bet you're as soft as warm butter!"

" _Ugh_."


	33. Chapter 33

**Title:** Unexpected Answers I (or, The Obligatory Lunar Festival Episode, 2017 Edition)  
 **Description:** "Li-Ming is proud and vain, and that is very noticeable, but it's another thing if it should concern Sylvanas."  
 **Notes1:** So I started up a Twitter handle where I just post IRL slice of life BS and general updates on specific things i.e. mostly fanfiction. You can find the link on my profile.  
 **Notes2:** I also uploaded cover art for _How Does That Even Work?_ , which was done via request by Psykotic101. Eventually, I will get around to working on and uploading cover art for this story, as well. (Yes, I drew that. It's on my Deviantart page. I do more than just anthro OCs.)  
 **Notes3:** I finally got around to making a chapter dump document, and as of this post I'm currently sitting at seventy-three prompts. I want to get every Hero in here at least once so I don't have to worry about a potential Mass Archive Panic, but for future stories that take place further down the line (read: many, many years later) I can't guarantee everyone will be present...because if we did, those would never get a proper conclusion outside of me burning out hard.  
 **Notes4:** Artanis was originally going to show up in this chapter, bewildered when Li-Ming confides to him how close she's gotten to Sylvanas since Chapters 15-16 (which, chronologically, is over the course of the 2016 chapters), but that would've been shoehorned. Don't worry; he'll show up in the next chapter.  
 **Notes5:** I know some readers might disagree with where I'm going with this, but yes, as "popular" (as in, popular to a few readers) as Sylvanas/Nova is, this is still listed as having Li-Ming and Nova as pairs (and now Valeera, but there's barely any room to include that in the description anymore). Now normally I don't make note of this because I find this as a detraction from immersing myself in a fanfic, and if you've so much as read a single Naruto-centric fanfic then you know there's PLENTY of this going on, so much so it takes a while before you get started reading. Now this won't have, and I'm going to pull an astronomical number out of my ass, forty or so "candidates" that Naruto harems are notorious for, and while I still refuse to call this a "harem" by modern anime standards, it's still a harem in that there are at least three (Nova, Li-Ming, and Valeera, and four, if you count Leoric; but let's face it, no one's going to, you're here for the yuri) people subtly and not-so subtlety vying for the attention of the object of their affection. Don't look at this as a "bait and switch", because it's not. I could go more into this, but it's such a mess of a topic between Eastern and Western values that it'd have to be reserved for another chapter that won't eat up too much space.

* * *

"You look…different."

Li-Ming turned around and, not for the first time, did a double-take. It was very rare to see Sylvanas in anything other than her chainmail armor and the few articles of casual clothing Jaina and Li Li bought and heaped on her from their trips to the more advanced cities in Hubworld. Seeing Sylvanas in an orange yukata embroidered with green-blue flowers and a rouge phoenix upon her breast was even more of an eye-opener.

Granted she almost always wore that perpetual frown that was expressed for a variety of occasions, mainly being a disdain for the mental fluctuation of childish simplicity that passed for common sense and fanatical, one-tracked stupidity and barbarism. Tonight, however, it seemed subdued—plain, even. It was as natural as the way of the Nexus, and the one thing Li-Ming couldn't stand above demons and blissfully ignorant mages was seeking to understand the nature of spells and philosophies and unable to grasp them.

As the years wore on, trying to understand what Sylvanas's frown expressed, especially now, was becoming a greater obstacle.

 _If Nova can overcome that, why can't you?_ said that inner deepness. Sometimes it sounded like Isendra. Sometimes it sounded like Leah or Eirena. Most of the time, it even sounded like herself.

Li-Ming tried not to frown at her, but she did, and wondered what Sylvanas would think of that. She sniffed, folded her arms, and turned her nose up. "No, I did not get Botox and I did not get facial reconstructive surgery, thank you for asking. You know a person can look different without makeup, right?"

Sylvanas blinked, and it surprised her how much Nova compared her to a cat. She made that lazy, half-lidded gaze into a work of art. Even the way her long, foliate ears rotated, twitched, and moved up and down against her skull in varying degrees was not so much feline as it was canine. Right now they were upswept, the inner shells facing toward the mingling crowds and the open food and game stalls. She was calm. "…I wasn't going to insinuate such a thing. And yes, I know cosmetics can enhance…or detract…a person's appearance. I used to apply them in my youth."

Li-Ming placed both arms akimbo and cocked a hip. She noted Sylvanas arching a brow at that. _It's just the attitude,_ she was telling the voice in her head that she was totally sure wasn't her. _You're a child compared to her, so_ of course _I'm going to give her a bit of lip. It comes with the package._

 _Right,_ said the other. _Just like Spectre Nova. Why don't you ask her how that went?_

She ignored her. "And pray tell, Sylvanas, since you are presumably better in the know, what do you think the lack thereof does for me?"

The Banshee Queen tilted her chin downward and studied her face. "It makes you look…softer. Younger. More—"

"Asian?"

Sylvanas snorted. "Well, yes. I suppose so. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around how you look one nationality and sound another."

"Ha! And I daresay you don't have any problems with people constantly comparing you to the archetypical elf in standard fantasy fiction."

"No. They're not even trying. But as I was saying, my previous assessment is not a negative. It's just—"

"Just?" Li-Ming ventured, and later that night she would ask herself why she had sounded so defensive about it. Most people were stupid; the Nexus just amplified it. If they could so easily accept the default Nova and her variants as part of this unofficial 'harem', why couldn't they? Why let their quirks slip by but not hers? Because she was not as heavily transitioned as they were?

"It's just," Sylvanas paused, searching for the right word. "It makes you look more, well, natural. More 'you'."

Li-Ming blinked, her posture shedding its tension. "Eh? More 'me'?"

"I had always thought you were trying to look like something you're not. Now trying to act something you're not—that is another thing, and not something I or anyone else can change, no matter how much we gripe about it." Sylvanas folded her arms within the yukata's voluminous sleeves. "But whatever people say about you, no matter how false their assumptions may be or how close they hit to home—you shouldn't listen to them."

She blinked again. "Eh?" Was this really the same Sylvanas speaking to her, the same person with a penchant for murdering people left and right on a whim and loved flipping the metaphorical bird at everyone, from not just the lowest serf to the most influential politician but a Power and a Lord of the Storm regardless of the circumstances?

"I'm saying you're better than that. Much more." Sylvanas reiterated. "You never gave me the impression you were someone who let a few paltry words and actions get to them. It's always about charging in heedless of dangers, getting blown up in the process, and getting back up again." She inclined her head. "Am I not wrong on that?"

Li-Ming shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She averted her gaze from Sylvanas and moved it to the ground, and felt ashamed, and that made her grimace.

Sylvanas stared at her. Then she sighed, resigned, her shoulders slumping. "Come now, Li-Ming. You know I didn't mean it that way. What did I just say?"

"I know what you said," Li-Ming grumbled. But, she mused as an afterthought, to hear it from someone that could be called (on very loose terms) a friend, someone who was not Isendra or Eirena made it all the more harder to bear.

 _You know why,_ said the other, and Li-Ming inwardly sneered.

 _Stuff it._

"Then chin up, _girl_ ," Sylvanas added, and from the corner of her eye Li-Ming saw her face fall. No, 'fall' was the wrong word; there was a subtle shift in her features that made her appear as if she had come off too harshly in her assessment. She was proven correct at the low grunt and the return of the frown on her face. "This is not a night for frowns and brooding. Smile more; it looks better on you."

Li-Ming's head whipped around so fast it made the both of them think it would have caused whiplash. "Did you just say something positive?" _About me?_

Sylvanas frowned at the goggling sent her way. "Yes, I know, I can't believe I said that, either, but better it came from me. Do you really want someone like Jaina to act all preachy about bringing harmony to your surroundings and all that Taoist bullcrap? No, I didn't think so." She beckoned toward the stands and the general revelry with another incline of her head. "The night is still young. I don't care too much for festivities and revelries, but your holiday and mine are not so different. Let us pay our respects to our elders and take pleasure in what we have…because you know when this is over, it's back to causing financial ruin and General Autism 101." She started walking.

Li-Ming huffed, caught up with her, and matched her stride. "I assure you, I will do no such thing…but if I should, well, there's always collateral and property insurance to cover the whole mess."

Sylvanas scoffed, but the intonation was not rude or in denial. Arms folded back in their sleeves, she lead the way on padded geta, her back straight and proud, her ears standing erect and pointing toward the heavens. It was a clear night, but one would be unable to find that many stars in the sky with how much light was being put out by paper lanterns and the soothing, bioluminescent radiance of the glow-lamps on the thoroughfares.

Li-Ming sneaked a discreet glance at the taller woman, studied the crowd (and saw not a blonde hair in sight), and inched closer toward her, close enough for their robes to touch.

 _This is much better, isn't it?_

After a moment's indecision between choosing making a rebuttal and feigning ignorance, she decided that yes, yes, this was much better.


	34. Chapter 34

**Title:** Unexpected Answers II (or, The Obligatory Lunar Festival Episode, 2017 Edition)  
 **Description:** "Artanis learns - and tries to comprehend - that more than one person can find something good and appealing in a cynical, undead hardass."  
 **Notes1:** As promised, Artanis shows up in this chapter. Nothing on the Starcraft Wikia mentions anything about protoss interpersonal relationships, so I went and ran with the idea that he's this big nerd when it comes to the kind of shoujo manga/chick lit books where the relationship is monogamous. He just strikes me as that kind of guy once he gets in touch with the Nexus and starts going native.  
 **Notes2:** As much as I like venturing on 4chan, particularly my main haunts /a/ and /v/, I can't stand containment boards like /u/ (as I'm a yuri fangirl, and while I'm cool with yaoi it was never really my cup of tea). This won't be the first chapter where I'll be taking pot shots at /u/, and not because of who and what they want to ship with.  
 **Notes3:** While I don't mind these ships in particular, I feel it's getting to the point where they're beginning to overtake the point of the story, i.e. a chronologically out of order story with slice of life moments interspersed with sprinklings of drama. So probably after the next chapter, I'll go take a look at my chapter dump document and pick a few from there.  
 **Notes4:** A much shorter chapter is to be expected for the next upload, but I can't guarantee I'll be able to squeeze it out given my current work schedule. I'm on shift for the next six days with seven to nine hours for each day, so unless I suddenly contract another illness (as I've done three times already over the course of the year; it's great being a biological carrier) or get injured while on the floor between now and then, I don't see any updates being made until after Tuesday.  
 **Notes5:** A fair warning: While it doesn't spoil anything particularly grandiose, this chapter does mention events that will happen later and go into greater detail in _How Does That Even Work?_ (as this takes place several months after HDTEW's final chapter). However, given my work schedule and my juggling between different stories, you're not missing out on much. Said events won't occur for quite some time.

* * *

Artanis was a protoss of many questions. Before the Nexus had decided that participating in a seemingly never-ending interdimensional tournament was more important than ending Amon's campaign to wipe out all life in the galaxy, he had been compelled to observe a problem from all possible angles. How would he go about rallying the Purifiers and the Tal'darim together? How would he reclaim Aiur from the Zerg?

Then, after he had woken in the ruins of some grand, ancient kingdom consumed by nature (and mostly certainly not on the ship fleeing Aiur when the plan fell through) and stumbled his way into Shire-by-the-Rocks days later, his questions slowly lost rationality. Should he believe Kerrigan when she said she wasn't his enemy anymore? Did he really have to put up with the Zerg? Did the Xel'naga have a hand in creating the Nexus?

Over time, they became questions he had never imagined to take into serious consideration. Questions that grew more ridiculous and often made him wonder, in no short amount of horror, if it was the prolonged exposure to the transition giving rise to this over-analyzing. Why was there a baby fish as a contender? Why wasn't his sync ratio high enough to pilot Mecha Tassadar? Why did it rain, snow, sleet, hail, and suffer periods of extreme heat and cold in a matter of hours in Luxoria? How was the Nexus not bankrupt and a post-apocalyptic wasteland after Li-Ming and the Greater Dog blew up the better part of King's Crest in one of their insane training regimens, among other instances of mayhem? Why was everyone okay with this?

Speaking of Li-Ming…

He had accepted the ochoko from the elven bartender and made to put his wrist palm-up on the counter so he could pour the cold water onto his skin when he saw the girl come into the view. There were times where he did wish he had a mouth so he could smile at her, but alas, that was not to be, so his eyes were more than ready to widen a fraction and impart his greeting.

They widened a lot more when they fell upon Sylvanas, walking next to her, looking as neutral and as uninterested as a lion at rest among his pride.

The water was meant to be poured, slowly, so that his skin would absorb it bit by bit. Instead, the initial shock caused him to dump it all over his hand. Oh, it would still sustain him, but now some of it had gotten onto the counter, and goddammit, he was making a fool of himself now by smearing water all over the place with his wrist. As he was doing so, watching as his skin drank in the moisture, he made certain to make some very discreet glances at their passing. They stopped at a large booth where, he recalled, people could pay a couple silver to try and fetch fish in cheap, little plastic nets to put into bags and take home for keeping. The fish were contained in basins and ranged from a number of types—black shark fins, pictus catfish, danios, goramis, goldfish, fiddler crabs, Day-Glo fish, silver dollars. He watched as Sylvanas rummaged through the rune bag tied at her hip, yanked out a gold coin, and closed the proprietor's fingers over it with a grumpy frown. She accepted the net from the man's excited, trembling hands and crouched on her haunches in front of a basin.

For the first time tonight, Artanis noticed she was wearing something other than her armor. A yukata. With geta. And she had her hair down. His eyes widened with dawning realization.

They grew larger as she put the net to the water and trace a trail through it, then back again in the opposite direction. The tips of her ears bobbed up and down, flickered, rotated inward and down at the basin.

Now Artanis had seen some crazy things in his life: Tassadar being unable to pilot the humongous mecha shaped in his own image, Dehaka shopping at Terran supermarkets for essence, Kerrigan not only having a pet torrasque at her beck and call but still swearing up and down she wasn't his enemy. Even witnessing Alarak be forced to ride a Wonder Billie when the stables had their annual interdimensional medical tests a while back was pretty trippy.

To see Sylvanas doing something other than throwing insults and killing people indiscriminately in all sorts of simple, complex, degenerate ways? And spending time with someone other than Nova or her variants? It was perhaps the craziest thing of all.

But weren't they…what was that term Terrans loved to throw around? 'Going steady'? Yes, that was it. Weren't they doing that? Then why was she with Li-Ming and not the Novas?

 _It's just a friendly outing,_ the voice in his head, the inner reason, reiterated. _How many times do we have to go over this—_

 _She's cheating!_ Artanis said. _She has to be! There's no way she would hang out with anyone else and be chummy with them._

The voice groaned. _Oh, for the love of Adun—_

 _She must be. The only way a person can win the heart of the Banshee Queen is if she dies more times than Nova has in the three years she's been here._ Artanis blinked as Sylvanas lifted the net, rotated it this way and that with an inspecting moue of distaste, and with a shrug dropped it back into the water. _Nova's died A LOT._

 _Are you talking about just the default or are you taking into account every death each variant have suffered by her hands in and out of League matches?_

 _Does it matter?_

 _I believe it does._

 _Then what we're witnessing is blasphemy! Adultery! Infidelity!_

 _I don't think anyone's really interested in doing_ that _outside of those crazy fanatics in those degenerate message boards that write those godawful fanfiction. Realistically, this kind of pairing wouldn't make a lick of sense!_

 _Now you listen here! I've read some damn good fanfiction—!_

 _Oh yes, the fanfiction where people consider holding hands to be lewd and violating the laws of thermodynamics and universal purity! Well I SPIT on your purity!_

 _YOU TAKE THAT BACK!_

"You know, you'd really make a serious contender for perfecting the thousand yard stare, my friend," said a female voice close by, and Artanis jolted in his seat. He spun around and saw Li-Ming perched on the seat next to him, nibbling on a stick of dango taken from a tray the bartender must have placed between them when he wasn't paying attention. She grasped the ochoko with thumb and clasped fingers. "Here, have some water," she said, and when he stirred from his stupor Artanis lay his wrist up on the counter for her to pour onto. He blinked slowly, basking in the coolness it brought upon contact.

Artanis sighed with relief. "Ah, my thanks, Li-Ming. You are too kind."

She shrugged. "Of course. It's rude to stare, after all."

He started again. "O-Oh no! No! I didn't mean to…er…that is to say, I wasn't intending to—"

"So sayeth the rest of the Nexus, because they're too nosy for their own damn good," Li-Ming sneered, and then her features softened. "Sorry. I shouldn't generalize. I know you didn't mean to stare. It is odd, isn't it?" She smirked at the flabbergasted noise he made. "Come now, be honest. If it's anyone other than Nova, I'll bet you think there's something going on, isn't there?"

Artanis fidgeted in his seat. He rapped his hands against his knees. He glanced to the left and then he glanced to the right. He tried not to look down at the ground between his feet, so at last he mustered his courage and looked her dead in the eye. "You speak truly. I have only ever seen Sylvanas be, uh, civil (and such a word is very much stretching things) with Nova while she is unpleasant and even outright hostile with I and everyone else. To see her without her, to see her with you and be, well, friendly..." Artanis cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Li-Ming, but I can't help but wonder just…you know…what it is about you see…or rather, what she sees in—"

Li-Ming held up a hand, stopping him short. "Artanis," she began, tone neutral and face expressionless. "This is nothing new that I haven't heard before. In fact, it's not just directed toward I or Nova; it's directed at everyone who so much as interacts with Sylvanas, no matter how civil that interaction is, as you so put it. It's very hard not to ignore all the gossip."

"But it's different, isn't it?" he asked her. "The way people talk when Sylvanas speaks to, say, Li Li or Jaina is nowhere near as," he paused, searching for the right word, "as _nosy_ as when she speaks to you or Nova and her variants."

"Sylvanas doesn't really like my Star Princess counterpart," Li-Ming said, shrugging. "Something about magical girls, mind controlled crows, and tired anime clichés that still persist in some universes."

"Wait, what?"

"Anyway, let's shove that particular topic aside for clarity's sake and return to the conversation at hand." Li-Ming bit off the last of the dango, chewed, and tossed the skewer in a nearby trash receptacle over her shoulder.

Artanis's gaze shifted left and right. He rolled his shoulders and worked a crick out of his neck. "Oh, uh, yes. Right. As you were, um, saying?"

"Splendid. Yes, you are right, Artanis. People are very nosy, but that's because we're very curious and often times can't help ourselves wanting to know more. People want answers. People want to know why others do things they would find odd or could never fathom to bother trying because they go against their nature. So they listen. They send their friends or convince strangers with bribes to get a little closer than what they're comfortable with and eavesdrop. Perhaps there is an exchange of hands. Perhaps there is a game of wait and see. At the end of the day, regardless of what they do, they get their information and spread it throughout the land and throughout the realm until all the Nexus knows and the truth of the matter is twisted beyond recognition.

"But people can be so stupid, you know?" Li-Ming added, and her lips twisted into a dreadful sneer. "They choose to believe what they want to believe, what they want to make sense…so they pick apart the truth, the misaimed ramblings and rumblings and rumors, and make that their own truth." She inclined her head to where Sylvanas knelt behind her, unseen, and from where they sat Artanis saw the light of the lanterns played off her eyes so that they smoldered and flickered. There was anger, there was jealousy, there was disappointment and neglect and fear and a sadness pride itself would refuse to neither submit nor admit to, and his hearts seized in realization and with pity. "That's why it's easier for them to understand how Nova works so well with Sylvanas. She was the first person that didn't treat her as another sideshow attraction or an object of power to be feared, you know. She was the first person, other than the Board, to notice there was something wrong with her, that something had happened to her on the way to the Shire, and tried to make her feel…comfortable. At ease with her condition."

"What of the others before Sylvanas?" Artanis asked. "Did they not try to help?"

"I suppose they did. Maybe Thrall or Uther or even Jaina. Maybe Tyrael offered her a small measure of comfort. Maybe Kerrigan took pity on her and tried but failed to rectify the problem. But that's the thing with transitioned folk, Artanis. When they're still trying to come to grips with what they've become, how they must manage to eke out an existence that is so far removed from what they've known and what they were psychologically before…well, you can't help someone if they refuse it. So when Sylvanas decided to step up and do something about it, you could say the rest was history. Why else would Nova be so chipper? I'm sure you're aware of her history, read up on her files via the Board."

Artanis nodded. "Yes. The reason why Ghosts are the way they are. The world was not kind to her, but…such is the life of a soldier."

Li-Ming also nodded, and they lapsed into a somber platitude of silence. She signaled for the bartender and requested for more water and a dish of mana-flavored dango, to which the bartender acquiesced. Artanis thought her eyes had lingered too long on Li-Ming before she retrieved the ochoko and plate before turning away into the dark of the stall. They were green, like cut emeralds, and the afterimage of them was burned into his mind (on top of the psychedelic sunspots from the paper lanterns).

When she returned, Li-Ming took one dango for herself and offered the other to the bartender. The elf's ears flapped, and she stared at it as though it was lathered in poison, but she took it without complaint and, after a moment's hesitation, mumbled her thanks and retreated back into the shadows. Artanis took the cup and painstakingly dribbled water over both wrists. The relief was both arctic and orgasmic.

When he came down from his high and decided, although somewhat reluctantly, it would not hurt to try, he continued. "I've…heard inklings…about Nova. How she got to…be this way. I would ask how…but that's not my place." He shook his head. "I won't use my powers to pry into her memories."

Li-Ming pursed her lips. "An honorable decision. But let's face it, someone's going to blab about it eventually."

His eyes narrowed in a dim smile. "Yes, I suppose that's true. Also, I had noticed over the past year how much Sylvanas has…would it be safe to say 'mellow' is an appropriate word?"

Li-Ming took a moment to think. "Sort of?"

Artanis laughed. "Alright, let's go with that. Yes, I have noticed she's become more…mellow. A little better with everyone else, but she is more tolerant with Nova. She hasn't killed her as numerously or as indiscriminately as before."

"And why do you think that is? Honest opinion." She bit a chunk out of a ball and licked the sugar from her lips.

Artanis tapped a hand on his knee, pondering, reaching. "Because of what almost happened to Nova. I wasn't there, but I did hear the stories. Most of those were hyperboles and tall tales, but there was always one common feature that stood out to me: that something called an Erewhon Gate was forced open by a rogue agency. These people, from what little I could glean in my daily routines, had made it their goal to kidnap heavily transitioned folk and drag them back to their default sectors. Return them to how they were prior to the Nexus's intervention." He grabbed the ochoko off the counter and rotated it between his fingers. It was empty and only moisture remained. "If my guess is right, they tried to do the same with Nova, and Sylvanas would have none of it."

"You would guess right," Li-Ming said, setting down the bare skewer on the dish. "Knowing Sylvanas, you would think she'd hand Nova over to them the first chance she got."

"But she didn't."

"Far from it. I think that was the angriest I've ever seen her. I ought to regale you with that story someday, when the holidays have passed and we are not so busy. We needn't bring down the atmosphere tonight."

"No, of course not," Artanis agreed. "Although you have got me thinking."

"Oh?"

"Seeing as how things are now, how Nova is and how Sylvanas is now compared to before…perhaps it's for the best. Some would say the Nexus is the summation of all versions of hell throughout time and space, and some would say it's but another realm for a deceased soul to reincarnate into, but as mad as this universe is I think it has changed people for the better. I mean, we die, but we always come back. For good or for will, regardless of how warped it has become from its conception, this place gives us ample opportunity to learn and grow."

"For now," Li-Ming said, frowning. "No one ever really knows for sure how long foreigners remain in the Nexus. Even if we were dragged back to our dimensions, who's to say we'll retain those memories? Those experiences? Those...feelings?" Her gaze was steady on him, unwavering like a cliff against the break of the coming tides, and yet Artanis could see the fragility behind it.

He did not dare encroach on the subject. "I don't know. However long the Nexus wants us, whether that purpose is being part of the Hero League or some other plan beyond our reckoning, we will stay here. It could be next year. It could be tomorrow. It could be thousands of years from now." He crinkled his eyes so it would give her the impression that he was smiling and reassuring. "If that's the case, then I say it would be wise for us to make as many memories and go through as many feelings as possible, so that we can hold onto them as tightly as possible for when we do return. Think of it as amnesia: we forgot most of what we know, but we never forget all of it. If we forgot everything there is about us, why, we wouldn't be able to take care of ourselves!"

Li-Ming groaned, grimacing. "You just made it sound ten times worse!"

"Oh! Oh, my apologies, Li-Ming. It wasn't my intention—"

"Oh, I know it wasn't. I would just rather hold onto than let go of my feelings for Sylvan—" She clapped both hands over her mouth.

Artanis's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "WHAT?"

She glared at him, dropped her hands. "You didn't hear that," she growled.

"YOU WHAT."

"Artanis. I'm not saying this lightly, but I swear to all the Prime Evils and the Angiris Council…if you so much as utter this to anyone—"

"B-B-But I thought…!" Artanis sputtered, gesticulating wildly, and he wouldn't realize until much later he almost backhanded the bartender he would come to know as Valeera Sanguinar across the face as she bent to retrieve the dishes. "I thought Sylvanas…and Nova…! But now you…!" He squeaked, and thank Adun Alarak was nowhere around to hear him let alone see him act like those stock characters out of some Japanese self-insert anime! "How did you…what did you…How…!"

"Because harems be damned, I can and I will! All those Novas and all those people, and especially you, Hierarch, are just going to have to get used to Li-Ming of Caldeum being not draped but hanging on the arm of Sylvanas Windrun—!"

"HEY, I SAW THAT!" the proprietor of the fishing basin cried, and protoss, wizard, and bartender turned to see him point an accusatory finger at Sylvanas.

She glanced up at him with half-lidded eyes through a swath of starched hair. "Saw what?" she drawled in monotone.

"Your eyes glowed! You used mind control to get those fish in that net!"

"That's the reflection from the lights you're seeing. All elves have eyeshine."

"Yes, and those knife ears of yours give you better hearing than a bat!"

"Actually, yes. What else have you learned in school today?"

"You're a cheater! A liar! I'll bet this isn't even real gold!" He fetched the piece from beneath the counter and flashed it at her.

"Then bite it," she said, shrugging. "I hope you have dental insurance." She lifted the net from the water and shook it once at him. Several fish flopped.

The man's face purpled and a vein bulged from his neck and from his forehead. He harrumphed and stomped off with a huff, coming back with a plastic baggy. With trembling hands he snatched the net out of her grasp, dumped the fish inside, and tied it closed. "Have a good evening," he forced out between clenched teeth.

"And you as well," she drawled again, leveling him with irises wide and open. Her ears stood ramrod straight, the tips quivering. There was a sliver of white, sharp teeth. She took the fish, bowed low at the waist, and spun away on her heel.

Artanis and Li-Ming watched the man pout and cross his arms over his chest. "Don't come back," he mumbled under his breath. "Hoity-toity, rabbit-eared, horse-faced, thigh-gapped, noodle-armed…."

"Here," Sylvanas said when she approached them, holding up the bag. "The poster said these are black fin sharks. You have an aquarium for harvesting alchemical ingredients, so make sure you take good care of them when they start laying eggs."

"Oh, thank you," said Li-Ming, gingerly accepting the bag as though it was a religious idol. "If you don't mind, I'd like to drop them off at the dormitory as soon as possible."

Sylvanas shrugged. "If you want."

"Here, I got you this." Li-Ming passed her the last dango stick. "I'm sure you have a hankering for something."

Sylvanas hummed, burning holes into the treat. "Even undead, there are times where I feel as though I'm running on fumes. I suppose a spot of mana wouldn't hurt. You have my thanks." She took a piece in her mouth and slid it off the skewer. When she raised her head, it was to Artanis staring at her. She scowled. "Greetings, Hierarch. What has so captivated your attention on this fine night?"

Li-Ming whirled on him and pinned him down with a glare. He picked up the unspoken threat of lopping off his nerve cords in his sleep at the forefront of her mind.

 _Better your nerve cords than the shoujo manga!_

 _But the manga—!_

 _FORGET THE STUPID MANGA! CORDS ARE FOR LIFE!_

"Oh! Oh, uh," he stammered. "I was thinking how, uh, radiant you look tonight. Like the first star in an evening's sky that doesn't adhere to irregular planetary alignments and temporal mishaps."

Sylvanas sniffed. "Of course I am. There was never any doubt. Now, if you will pardon us, there are some fish we must attend to. Pleasant tidings, Hierarch."

"Yes. Pleasant tidings to you, Sylvanas, Li-Ming."

"Come along, Li-Ming."

"See you around, Artanis," said Li-Ming casually, beaming brightly as though a storm of apocalyptic proportions hadn't just marred her features moments ago. She deposited some silver coin in a see-through plastic container for tips, hopped off the stool, and went to Sylvanas's side as though she was a magnet.

Artanis watched them go, and when they became lost in the crowd he was still staring. He looked at the ground, looked at his upturned palms nestled in his lap, then looked up and stared ahead again. "Huh," he said, and that was all he could manage. "So that's what she was going on about."

His inner self heaved a weary sigh. _And you just now noticed? By Adun, where have you been? Get your head out of those books and pay attention!_

Oh, now he was starting to sound a bit too much like Alarak for his liking. _But…undeath and opposing personalities aside…how does that even work?_

 _The same as any other relationship goes: by indulging in curiosity and finding common ground._

 _To a point,_ Artanis cautioned him. If indeed the Nexus was hell, then hell itself would not be safe from the clutches of a woman spurned and scorned. In which, the woman in question would be Li-Ming; it still surprised him that King's Crest had quickly recovered from her beam-spam sparring session with the Greater Dog….

Perhaps he could help contribute to refilling those coffers. Or, at least if the woman wasn't intending to assist in rebuilding (and who would blame her, the Shire was prone to imploding on itself every other day for some reason or another, and he admitted he shared a very small part in the blame), she could make do with what she earned at the end of the night. He had his satchel on him, so he fished around and dug out a few pieces of silver to drop in the tip box. He made to snap it close, stopped, thought it over, then added a gold coin. Adun would smile on him this day.

The bartender emerged and gathered the plates so they stacked from largest to smallest. "She was totally cheating," she said, picking up the stack from the bottom.

Artanis blinked. "You could tell?"

"Those nets are very flimsy. Besides, I've seen her use that spell enough times to tell the difference between eyeshine and creepy, necromantic compulsion, and when you're being creepy you _have_ to make your eyes glow a lot brighter. All the cartoons and movies do it."

"Oh. That's very interesting." He decided to make a note of this when he returned to the _Spear of Adun_ later. That, and watch more horror movies. It would come in handy for when he faced Sylvanas in battle.

Speaking of which, he added with a measure of discomfort: "Um…I apologize for that outburst earlier. I've no doubt you heard that. I'm really not like that."

 _Most of the time,_ his inner self reiterated. Artanis violently shushed him.

"That's alright." The bartender stopped mid-step and peered at him from over her shoulder. A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Clearly the two of you have never heard of sharing."

Artanis's hearts skipped several beats. It took him a full minute for his brain to digest, process, and finally catch up. "You mean there are more of you?"

The smile became a full-blown smirk.

Artanis studied it, etched into memory. He reached back and reflected on Li-Ming's words and actions. Then he went even further and reflected on Nova's interactions. Then he remembered Sylvanas and compared her attitude toward him in contrast to how it was toward Li-Ming, which lead back to Nova and looped around and finally stopped at the bartender.

His mind went blank.

"Wanna know how it works?" she asked him, and grinned.

"N-No. I…I think I get it. Maybe. Sort of." He sighed, suddenly tired and confused. "No." Then he got up and walked away.


	35. Chapter 35

**Title:** A Fool's Fancy  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas gets a wake-up call."  
 **Notes1:** I had this chapter ready to go last week, but when you work as a Walmart employee, it is a guaranteed _given_ that you'll catch a bug or virus that's going around. If you're like me and work in the self-checkout area where you cannot, under any circumstances, leave your station (among other things that, while justified in self-defense, will get you fired), it's going to be in the air and there is nothing you can do about it. This time it's the common flu, and yours truly has accepted her role in being a biological carrier, i.e. bringing that crap home to share with the family. I'm a lot better than I was last Tuesday night when it started to take hold...but I will not lie to you: the last cold I had was way back in September last year, and knowing my luck I'll either catch something again in one-three months. Maybe I'll even break a bone lol (although I have gotten injured on the floor once before and almost decided to jump to my manager's defense when a fist fight almost broke out with a customer one night). But that's to be expected: I was unemployed for two years before this job, and being the stubborn bitch that I was, I hardly went out anywhere.  
 **Notes2:** I wrote this chapter right after the previous one and took a break which I used to recover from my cold. I think the quality might have suffered a bit toward the very end, but it's nowhere near as bad as Chapter 30's ending fatigue. I took some inspiration from my own life as of late, which include the warm spell we had a couple weeks back here in Illinois and Valeera's scathing comment about looking like jailbait. (Which is far from true for her, but I'm in my late twenties and I _still_ get people - customers and coworkers - that outright ask me if I'm old enough to ring up alcohol and cigarettes. I get some...interesting responses. To drive this point home, I once had a customer tell me I looked as young as _ten_.)  
 **Notes3:** It was also during this time that we were introduced to Probius, which I'm sure blindsided a lot of people and drove many a Stukov/Karax/Fenix fan into a blind, Hulk-like rage. I've already come up with a half-dozen or so prompts based around this little guy, and spoiler alert: they're almost all centered on him being relentlessly bullied.  
 **Notes4:** Since one of the readers asked (and I know which one: I can just never spell your name right lol): Yes, Spectre!Nova will show up. Everyone will, but it's going to take a while. There isn't a precise storyline other than "Sylvanas and the rest of the cast blow shit up, hold philosophical discussions, and do random things for the lulz", but there will be multi-part chapters like the Unexpected installments.  
 **Notes5:** Even Mishka, the OC who has been mentioned here and in another chapter, will make an appearance in Chapter 50, which is chronologically the first chapter. Maybe I'm getting the wrong impression, but I've noticed that she's caused a bit of confusion among some readers. Long story short: she's my blood elf BM Hunter on WoW, even though I RP her as a high elf who is tainted as the rest of the blood elf race but refuses to go by the Sin'dorei name. I won't blame you for feeling lost whenever she's brought up, though; in hindsight, she'll make more sense in the Warcraft fanfics whenever I should get around to those.

* * *

The trees rustled, and the first thing that cropped into Sylvanas's half-awake mind was that it was just some birds messing around up in their nests or squirrels making trouble up in the branches. Then something hard slammed into her legs, and the shock jolted her to full wakefulness. The impact forced a breath of air to escape her, and with quickly rising fury she noted that she was a couple weeks out before she felt it was time to take that breath and relish it. The common Forsaken plebian would have to feel suicidally confident to want to kill her for a chance to make their lungs work to that capacity again.

There were no dreams this time—nothing of Alleria lost in the Twisting Nether, nothing of Kerrigan gloating about being the better queen while riding an Alaskan Bull Worm or Lucio and the Chief teaming up to put her through another musically-induced acid trip or Jaina in Chinese war armor trying to make a real woman out of her. Still, the weather was unseasonably warm for February (Ragnaros was to blame for that, trying to claim the sun for his own uses), and a nap was a nap where it concerned peace and quiet from the general insanity of the world.

The second thing to cross her mind that if the person who disturbed her wasn't Nova, Li-Ming, Li Li or anyone else that didn't grind her gears (or Greymane, in his attempts to kill her in the name of 'justice' and 'vengeance for a land no one wants to bother occupying any time soon'), then someone was going to die. Right now, as a matter of fact, as she drew out the shadow dagger and raised it above her head. It had just come to her attention (and if what the girls are saying is anything to go by, she's months late) that people were calling her _soft_ , _ruggedly kind_ , a woman whose heart was starting to _grow ten sizes too big_ for that skinny frame that they were taking bets to see how long it'd take before it burst out of her chest—and all because she wasn't killing as much as she used.

Well, she was going to prove them all wrong!

…Or she would have, had she not recognized the girl lying sprawled in her lap, sleeping. The red hood thrown back showed the head of blonde hair pillowed right between her thighs.

Sylvanas's ears relaxed from their rigidity and dipped low. She craned her neck back, peering up at the foliage, and clicked her tongue, shaking her head. The kid just had to pick a spot, way up high in a tree on the outskirts of the Shire, to sleep. She just had to pick that particular tree where, hours later, Sylvanas would go to kick back and close her eyes. Only for a bit; there was only so much diabetes and lunacy she could take from everyone.

She made a sound between a grunt and a groan and looked down at the kid again. What a heavy sleeper, she mused, to not have woken from falling from such a height and landing— _so very conveniently,_ she added as an afterthought—almost right on top of her. She was probably the type of person who didn't mind sleeping on rooftops or underneath a car if it meant getting some shut-eye.

She was going to feel more than refreshed when she awoke later.

Sylvanas harrumphed and moved some of the kid's hair out of her face, tucking it behind a large ear. Her hair was so full and wavy and ripe with color compared to her own, straight and starchy though it may be. A deep, vibrant gold.

 _Just like Alleria's._

Her upper lip curled back. She always did this. With every blonde-haired elf-girl she saw, in one way or another she would find herself comparing them to her sister. Even that brat with the stone-carved quilen who kept insisting she was going to find Alleria and do whatever it took to do so reminded her that, in another time and place, she could have been another younger sister with the same love and passion she saw—and herself, as well—as her idol.

Well, at least this one wasn't too concerned about the Windrunner family. One young, foolish headache was enough.

Her fingers grazed the shell of the kid's ear, and it flapped hard against the side of her head. Sylvanas prodded gently, and it slapped, slapped, slapped until she withdrew her head and the ear folded sideways, dipped, and came to rest. Valeera pursed her lips, grumbled, and brought her knees up to her chest. She shivered and rubbed a cheek into her lap until half her head was hidden away. Her fists were loosely closed balls.

Sylvanas hummed low in her throat. "I know. I can't help it. But," and she put a hand on top of her head, "it's better than being up in that damn tree, don't you think?"

Valeera mumbled. It sounded vaguely like "Like the sun. Feels good. Praise sun."

She snorted. "There are better places to sleep in the sun than up a several-stories tall tree. What are you, some kind of cat?" Because, as much as it exasperated her, she was _the_ big cat. _She_ was the one who could pull off the bland stares and bearing of teeth better than cats themselves. The kid, and the Novas and Li-Ming before her, was a mere kitten. They would need a thousand years before they could think to reach her level.

Valeera licked her lips and gave what appeared to be a tiny nod. A corner of her lips quirked in a smile. She leaned back into the palm of her head. Sylvanas stroked it, mindful not to get too close to her ears. The kid shifted position, still searching for warmth, then settled down. Her shoulders rose and fell in a slow, lulling rhythm.

Sylvanas, too, returned a soft, ghostly smile of her own. "Silly girl."

* * *

Later that day, Valeera awoke. She squinted at the piercing sunlight, and when she blinked the sunspots away she saw it was coming through the window, the pine needles throwing dappled shadows across the wall. She groaned and made to sit up, only to wince and place an arm around her waist. She looked down to see a large, purpling bruise taking up a good portion of her pale midriff.

"What the…?" Gingerly, she touched the bruise and hissed at the lightning rod of pain lancing through the area. Then she sat up fully, grimacing at the ache in her back, her shoulders, and her arms. _Why am I so sore?_

She looked up and saw she was in her bedroom. The curtains were drawn, letting in the sun of a passing, unseasonal warmth. Her daggers hung on their hooks on one side of the bed, taking up a good portion of the wall. Empty, transparent potion bottles were neatly arrayed on a handmade wooden rack on the L-table, where alchemical equipment was on full display. There were shelves of potted plants brooding on shelves placed in shadowy niches where they thrived and flourished.

"How did I get here?" she asked aloud as glanced around the room. She swung her legs off the side of the bed and slowly, mechanically, rose to her feet. She took two stiff, stumbling steps, and mindful not to exacerbate the soreness, she stretched her arms above her head and opened her mouth wide in a great yawn. When she lowered them and looked off to the side, she noticed there was a sheet of paper folded on the end table.

"Hm? What's this?" She was pretty sure it wasn't mail; she had already opened, read, and either tossed them into the trash (as was the fate of junk mail) or filed them away for future reference (confirmation orders on the shipping of crates of herbs from the Nightshade Guild in Outer Jeetilopolis). She grabbed the paper and unfolded it.

Her eyes widened. She brought the paper closer and skimmed it more slowly, a blush creeping up to the surface.

 _Kid,_

 _In case you're wondering why you're here, I'll put it as simply as possible for you to comprehend: For some reason, you decided taking a nap way up in a tree was a good idea. Whether the gods felt they wanted a bit of fun is hard to say, but you fell out of it and into my lap, disturbing my own nap. I kept you company for a while before I brought you back to the dormitory._

 _Next time you want to pretend to be a cat, do it in a place where you're not going to, you know, roll off and hurt yourself!_

 _B.Q.-Sylvanas_

 _P.S. Sorry I made you cold. It comes with…well, you know. I think my other variant was out teaching the minions and automatons at the shooting range._

 _P.P.S. I opened up a can of cat food and changed the water out of the bottle for the ferret when he wakes up; I don't know how long he's been sleeping. Your kiwi got excited seeing me and took off…so he's hiding somewhere in the cage. I dropped a few berries I nicked from your tree inside, so if he wants to eat he'll eat. (Although if you're that concerned about me…tampering…with everything, you're more than welcome to check. You have my word I have done nothing of the sort.)_

Valeera lowered the letter, her face blank. On one hand, she wanted to crumble the paper up and rage and fume at the fact that the older woman would dare throw the word 'kid' around as though it was a rubber ball. She was young, yes, but goddammit, did it look like she had the body of jailbait? Hell no!

On the other hand…she was flattered, and embarrassed, that Sylvanas would go out of her way to not leave her where she lay in the middle of nowhere and bring her—no, she thought, the redness in her cheeks darkening, carry her, back to somewhere more comfortable (and very much low to the ground). If anything, she would have expected to be dropped off a cliff and woken up at the nearest Hall of Storms as punishment for interfering with her rest. But that was not the case, and she was even kind enough to give her boys something to sate their appetites while she lay asleep.

Valeera folded the letter and set it back on the end table, but did not remove her hand from it. She stared at it, at her fingertips, and let her mind wander. She imagined that instead of the Banshee Queen, it was the Ranger-General, who had picked her up off the ground and carried her ( _bridal style,_ whispered the fangirl, and it sounded so very real and so very close to her ear) to the dormitory. She imagined the Ranger-General opening the curtains and drawing up the blinds so she could feel the sun upon her waking. She imagined the Ranger-General coming to a pause at the bedside, staring down at her, then sitting down beside, and then—

Her ears grew hot. They flapped as though they were bird wings.

She snatched her hand away from the letter and folded her arms across her chest. "K-Keep it together, Valeera! Only a fool would entertain that kind of fancy." She spun on her heel and went to go to the cage where Nigel the ferret slept in a nest of bedding he made for himself; curled up in a ball, his sable pelt made a stark contrast to the confetti of newspaper and old fabrics.

The cage sat on another L-table, with a second-level ladder and shelf for Nigel to climb and lay in the hammock hanging above. The water bottle was attached to the outer portion of the wall with two food dishes (one for Nigel, one for Tom the kiwi), a water dish for Tom, and a hamster wheel big enough for the bird to go nuts on. A few toys lay scattered throughout the cage: a bit of rope, a stuffed animal, a string of gold bells Tom must surely have knocked over some time ago.

Valeera leaned down and went to close her fingers through the spaces in the cage. She paused, stood up, and looked out the window. It was open, and it revealed a sparsely dotted greensward bereft of frost. The breeze was a warm sieve upon her skin.

Somewhere out there, the Banshee Queen was leaning back against a tree, arms folded behind her head, eyes closed in a facsimile of slumber.

Somewhere out there, the Ranger-General was watching her students go through the rounds at target practice, observing their movements, correcting their postures, rotating positions.

Her mind drifted away, but the thoughts were innocent. Chaste.

Valeera sighed and smiled foolishly. "But I guess it doesn't hurt to fancy."


	36. Chapter 36

**Title:** The Church of Light  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas runs an errand."  
 **Notes1:** This chapter was one of the earliest prompts (and, chronologically, one of the earliest chapters) I've had long before I wrote up the prompt dump doc; however, it was also written as a response to patrik666, who commented on how nice Sylvanas acted in the previous chapter (and imagine how much nicer Ranger-General Sylvanas would be, and I ship RG!Sylvanas/Valeera like a crack addict to his crack). Now a nice Sylvanas is well and fine, but we're more or less all here for asshole!Sylvanas and her antics (or, as Night3603 described her, "cynical but badass"). And I like writing asshole!Sylvanas, even if some of her actions are petty and childish (which are pretty much a result of the transition amplifying her behavior).  
 **Notes2:** This was also inspired a year or so back when I had Postal 2 installed on Steam and played it for the first time. Let's just say that in order to fully experience this chapter, I recommend you hit up YouTube and find the link for the church organ music.  
 **Notes3:** Uther was supposed to be in this chapter, and here he would've pleaded for BansheeQueen!Sylvanas to get him the hell out of the church. Then I sat back and asked myself why he would complain about the Church of Light's teachings - or rather, why he would complain about the person relaying the teachings to the masses, and so that was scrapped. It was supposed to be based around this supposed rivalry he has with Johanna in the game, but as I'm certainly not a Diablo player, none of it really made much sense to me.  
 **Notes4:** So I was going through the older chapters (and experiencing both a mix of Early Installment Weirdness and an ominous foreshadowing of discontent seeing Lucario's name in print) and noticed a peculiar detail: the Heroes used to live in a Manor. I think we're going to need a chapter for how everyone went from the Manor to goddamn school dormitories, don't you think? XD  
 **Notes5:** And last but not least: This story has hit over 100 reviews and 20,000+ views! And to think it's taken almost ten years since I've joined this site to get to that point. I should celebrate this with a special drawing. Let's aim for one hundred more!

* * *

"What is this?" asked the woman whose voice certainly did not sound as though it was coming out of a subwoofer (much like any other undead person's voice would), and Sylvanas scowled fiercely at the smirk the Ranger-General was giving her. "The Banshee Queen got roped into playing errand girl? I think Hell just froze over."

"And I think Heaven's come knocking for you early, girl. My fist has your name on speed dial. Let me call and ask," Sylvanas snapped, and jabbed at her when she was but a step away. The younger elf laughed and ducked underneath, then spun around and matched her stride.

"I thought you said you didn't do slapstick."

"I don't."

"You could have fooled me."

"I do what I want."

"Then what's with the papers?" The Ranger-General nodded at the sheaf in her hands.

"This? These are invoices I have to deliver to their correspondents because, _once again_ , the Board is short on staff and can't be assed to stop playing _Bejeweled_ for a few hours and look through all the applications they've received through the mail. Typical houseborn assholes having nothing better to do with their pampered lives!"

"They're rich people. What do you expect them to do?"

"Be rich and actually do something!"

"Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know, increase funding on reinforcing and proofing their wards in remote locations, for one! How many times does one person have to send perfectly arable land into another dark age by having satanic runes scorch the area or frozen solid by an undead dragon? Or how about increasing production on strengthening their architecture! How about buying a pocket dimension from one of their realms and store all their genetic research and reproductive material there? Can you imagine the catastrophe that would be going on if we had this kind of lunacy happening on Azeroth? How can one realm be okay with half their population—nay, nearly the entire Hubworld—blowing the Nexus to Kingdom Come on a daily basis? Am I the only person who thinks there's something very fundamentally wrong with that?!"

The Ranger-General grinned. "You might just be."

Sylvanas harrumphed. "Bitch," she rumbled. She still couldn't believe she was this same person some centuries back before the Fall. This was all Alleria's fault for getting her to _loosen up, don't be such a stick in the mud all the time, let Big Sis help you!_ What moron listened to their older siblings, anyway?

 _This one,_ said her conscience, and she cut her off with a mental picturing of twisting her neck.

"So where are you going first?" the Ranger-General asked.

Sylvanas shrugged but perused the invoice in front of her, eyes narrowing distaste. "It's to the Church of Light. They're looking to do some renovations on the interior because everything dates back to the Renaissance era. Unfortunately, some lazy ass couldn't afford to take time out of his day to give it to the High Deacon in person, so the Board had to scramble and pull someone off the benches to do the work for them."

"Meaning you."

"Meaning _me_ ," Sylvanas spat, and clutched the sheaf hard enough for the papers to crinkle at the edges. "Why couldn't they have sent that runt Nova in my place instead?"

"Why, because she can cloak herself from public eye and you can't?" the Ranger-General chuckled and elbowed her in the ribs. "I didn't take you to be the jealous type."

"I'm not," she growled. "I say it should be Nova because," she paused, made a face as she tried to find the right words, and sighed, "because she's Nova. She's eager, like a child, and always wants to help. I, on the other hand, could not give a damn if businesses went under or if churches lost their followers and hard-earned 'donation' money. I want nothing to do with them."

The Ranger-General nodded knowingly. "Ah. So not only are you jealous, you're a hypocrite."

"It's one thing to be concerned about one's welfare when they're stuck in this hellish plane you call a second home," said the Banshee Queen, "for when even immortal, one must partake in sustenance and homely comforts, regardless of how…varied and deranged those tastes may be. It's another thing to look the other way if those services do not provide for you by any means whatsoever. I am not a religious person. I never really was. This," she emphasized with a shake of the sheaf, "is just a means to an end. I take it to the church, I give it to them, I get paid, and I move on with my life. That's all."

"You mean you don't want to sneak into their sermons and take advantage of the potluck they have going on? I hear they get some good catering out east in the Quadrants."

"Yes, if you like catering from fast food joints where their subway sandwiches get soggy after being in the fridge overnight. You couldn't dare me to put any of that stuff in my mouth even if my digestive system still worked."

"Who said anything about subway sandwiches? Now chicken wings," said the Ranger-General, and nodded with a knowing grin. "Chicken wings are _divine_. Have you ever had chicken wings when you were alive?"

"Yes, I've had tallstrider before, back before the Second War and we traded with the southern nations. I can't say we had these fancy flavors like lemon pepper or teriyaki or 'thermonuclear heat' as we do now. And why are you asking me this? You should know what I liked to eat. We're more or less the same person."

"Perhaps. We never had your Third War."

"Yet."

"Don't stampede on my dreams."

"Che," Sylvanas spat, scowling at the papers. "Just keep walking. I need someone to distract me from the horrendous murder coming out of that organ when I hand the invoice over, and the first thing I hear better not be about food."

"Not even chicken wings?"

"Not even chicken wings."

The Ranger-General hummed thoughtfully, tapping her fingers together. Then she snapped them, loudly, as though a whip was struck right next to the Banshee Queen. "Not even blood?"

Sylvanas whipped her head askance so hard the living counterpart thought her neck would snap and go flying from her shoulders. "Oh, now I'm a vampire, eh? You can't call me a werewolf, and I'm neither a George Romero zombie nor a runner, so you have to go down the list of stock horror archetypes and mark them as you see fit!"

The Ranger-General sniffed and clicked her tongue. "I was just trying to make a joke."

"Well I don't do jokes."

"Part of having a running gag is trying not to be hypocritical about it, you know," she said, and shook her head. "Goddamn. Am I going to be this big of a prick when I'm older?"

"Want to find out?" She made to reach for the shadow dagger.

The Ranger-General dismissed her with a wave of the hand. "No thanks. I prefer living, thank you very much. I hear there are bigger bitches—and more physiological benefits—on my side of the lawn, anyway. Who needs undeath? Oh, here we are. The Church of Light." The building came into view: a small, marble place with a belfry and automated clock at the top underneath a row of pointed towers of gold and bronze shingles. A few cars were parked in a rectangular space filled with gravel and loose blacktop chips, and well off to the side was a hitching post for some of the poorer folk to leave their beasts to graze and not be frightened by the starting engines. Most were equine, one or two the reptilian battle beast, and one a mechanostrider, and they raised their heads when they heard the two Sylvanases walk onto the pavement and march their way up to the double doors.

The Banshee Queen craned her neck back to get a better look at it, frowning. "You know, when I first laid eyes on this place, I was expecting some large, grandiose place where people of all manners of riches and walks of life congregated and prayed to the Powers or the Spaces or whatever flying spaghetti monster lurks in the Uncharted Dark. This? This is a chapel set so far back in the boonies no one would miss it if it was sucked in through a sinkhole."

"This is just one of many Churches of Light," said the Ranger-General. "We're out in the Wend, which is one of the more rural districts in western King's Crest. I always heard that the further east you go the bigger, richer, and more urban the chapels get. Now those _churches_ —I hear they have escalators so you can reach the very back of the bleachers where the loudspeakers are."

"The better to deafen people with, my dear," Sylvanas said sarcastically.

The Ranger-General opened her mouth to retort, closed it, and rolled her eyes. She motioned for the other to follow, and together they climbed off the gravel and onto an inlaid cobblestone path leading up to the double doors. They could hear the deep rumblings of organ music wafting out from the inside. "Now why aren't these doors transparent like the other churches? And what's with this crossbar? Bah, I can't tell if they're warming up or already in session."

Sylvanas shrugged. "If that's the case, I'll just slide this under the door and—"

"Get up!" the younger woman exclaimed, hauling the elder to her feet as she kneeled down. "Come on, you're better than that! Show some pride, dammit!"

"I don't like the Light and the Light doesn't like me! Look at me!" and the Banshee Queen pointed at the scar across her face. "This was what the Light did to me!"

"Because you and Kerrigan had the bright idea to go and 'introduce yourselves' to Johanna! What did you think was going to happen? Hazing rituals don't work that way!"

"And yet, for some ungodly reason, this thing has rewarded me with a three-hundred percent increase in fangirls across the Nexus that I did not ask for." Sylvanas shrugged. "The things that I do that make people notice me. You would think my actions would turn others away, not toward me."

"You're stalling," said the Ranger-General. "That paycheck's not going to walk itself into your hands, you know."

"Oh shut it," said the Banshee Queen. "Just shut it and let me get this over with so I don't have to behold this blasted, heathen temple of mockery any longer—" She went and pushed through the doors, the Ranger-General quickly following behind.

The words died on her lips, the anger wiped clean from her face. Her counterpart mimicked her.

The church was just as small inside as it was outside. The floor underfoot was a plush, carpeted green that was broken here and there by twin rows of dark, polished pews. Large, stained glass windows depicting the Powers in their mortal mantles graced the walls on both sides and shone down on the parishioners in what little sunlight could pass through the overcast sky. A massive chandelier hung above the aisle. When one looked straight ahead, they saw the carpet ended in low-legged benches and steps that lead up to a platform. This was where the podium stood, and behind that hung tapestries of varied symbols of the Light. A giant sun cross sculpted from marble and laid in colorful jewels took up most of the space on the wall and loomed above the gathered assembly and its deacon. She wore a plain, beige robe with a white sash tied across her waist and looped around one shoulder, a sign that she belonged to the Church's upper echelons.

"And lo! Did the Great Galad spake to his brothers and sisters and the peasants and the nobles, 'So let the Light beseech the Spaces, and so let the Spaces beseech the Dark, so that all may be illumined by the knowledge, by the grace, by the dawn, by the dusk of the stars, the suns, and the moons within the reach of the eye and beyond the reach of the mind—' Why, hello there." Johnna unfolded her arms from their large, voluminous sleeves and nodded to the Banshee Queen and the Ranger-General. "This is quite the surprise! Banshee Queen, have you come to partake in today's sermon? It is never too late to espouse the Great Galad's teachings."

"Ehhhh…." was all the Banshee Queen could drone, stalling for time. The Ranger-General noticed and jolted her awake with a swift jab to the ribs with an elbow. "Oof!" She mustered her composure and glared at the woman. "No. No, I am not interested in some dead man's lies."

The assembly gasped, and they whispered—loudly, so she could hear them—amongst themselves. "The nerve of that woman!" "Ignorant wench!" "How dare she insult Galad!" "What do you expect from someone who dresses like those hookers in the Darkness convent?"

Johanna pursed her lips. "Now Sylvanas—Banshee Queen Sylvanas, I should say. It is unwise to speak venom of something, of someone, you are unaware of. That is, unless you are that I was not aware and you disagree with those teachings."

"No, I just don't care for whatever crockery you're spoonfeeding these imbeciles."

"Then whatever are you here for?" Johanna sighed. "Honestly, we get enough hecklers from the Church of Darkness. My sincerest apologies, Banshee Queen, but your words are but mere insects buzzing in my ear. The tennis balls to my playground of Teflon. Surely you can do better than that."

"You've got an invoice that the Board never bothered to give you. For renovations." Sylvanas removed the sheet from its clipping and crossed the aisle in quick, boundless strides. "Everything should be shipped and on its way within six to eight business days." She caught glimpses of the disapproving, hostile looks the parishioners directed at her from her periphery and tried not to sneer back at them.

Johanna met her at the end of the steps and retrieved the document from her. She glanced it over, nodded, hummed pleasantly. "Aye. This is wonderful news indeed. This old place could use some sprucing up and plenty of color. There is still life in these old bones. Thank you kindly. I will fill Deacon Rembrandt in on the details when he returns from Luxoria." She folded the paper in a small square and tucked it away beneath the folds of her robe. "Now, Sylvanas, is there anything else you wish to impart? Or perhaps there is something you require from me that I may be able to assist you with?"

"Just one thing: get rid of this scar you gave me." Sylvanas pointed at the dark, jagged line across the bridge of her nose. "I'm tired of people comparing me to Umino Iruka."

Johanna lowered her head and coughed into the crook of her arm. It didn't sound so much as coughing as it did laughter, and the more Sylvanas glared at her and heard that mock-coughing the hotter the anger burned, the more painful and abrupt the memory of the shield dashing across her face became. The scar smoldered with a quiet, ghostly ache as the skin around it and her mouth crinkled to form a horrific snarl. "I-I'm sorry, Sylvanas," said the crusader when she had finally settled down, "but I think that is beyond what little healing capabilities I have. The Light is unkind to people with your condition, and the Nexus is very…fickle with how it brings us back from the dead. I should think, if you ever hope to be rid of your disfiguring, you would have to ask not just the Powers but the Light itself—"

"Do I look like I want to be a born-again Christian? Get out of here with that nonsense."

Johanna smirked. "Very well. Come. Allow me to walk you to the door. 'Tis the least I can do."

Sylvanas scoffed but shrugged. "Do what you want. Just watch where you step. I hear at that height it's quite the fall."

"Do not worry. I take pains to be extra careful." Johanna suppressed a cough and walked down the aisle. Sylvanas lagged behind her, sulking, until she saw an old man giving her the stink eye and warding her off with the sign of the cross. She feigned a lunge at him, teeth bared and hands clenched as claws, causing him to splutter and scuttle back against some rippling sack of liver spots and sagging breasts she assumed was his wife or sister or something. Sylvanas mocked another lunge at the opposite side, this time at the group as a whole, and they sneered and rumbled at her.

The Ranger-General observed all this and quashed the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she sighed and straightened her posture when Johanna and the counterpart approached. "Good afternoon, Crusader," she said.

"Ah, good afternoon, Ranger-General," said Johanna. "Have you come to keep our resident banshee out of trouble?"

The living Sylvanas chuckled. "Something like that."

"Oh, piss and bother," the undead Sylvanas grumbled.

"I am almost finished with the day's sermon," said Johanna. "Would you perhaps be interested in lending an ear to what I have to say from the Book of Galad? Even if you do not adhere, you are more than welcome to stay."

"Perhaps another time. I have a class to prepare later today. It's almost time for their first foray into the Shadowskirts that are overtaking the borderlands at the northern Wend."

"Ah, a noble task, indeed! The Realm of Darkness thinks itself too bold to wage war on people who are beyond their martial ken, but one can only hope the cosmos will be kind to us and draw them a short lot when you encounter them."

"They're being trained by a Windrunner, friend, and a Windrunner _never_ misses her mark," she said, and Sylvanas thought she saw her eyes flicker her way. She probably thought that because she was undead, she couldn't hit a target dead-center as a living person would. Stupid bitch. "There's no way my students will fail."

"That's the spirit! If a few words cannot dissuade them from turning away on their endeavor…well, you and I both know how to best express them. A little one-two, don't you know! Oh ho ho, ho ho ho ho!" Johanna tilted her head back and continued with that droll, noblewoman's laugh. Sylvanas figured it suited more a donkey than a warrior.

The Banshee Queen glanced at the sheaf of papers in her hand, looked up at the doors, then past the Ranger-General and the blasted woman toward the large, bejeweled sun cross. She got her counterpart's attention by touching her elbow. "As much as I can see how much you…enjoy…the company, you really should be going. You don't have much time before class is in session. It'd be a shame if you were to be late."

The Ranger-General nodded. "Yes, you're right. I still have to get my equipment together and make some final adjustments to the day's plan. I can't imagine having another person try to go off my work plan and follow everything to the letter. There's just no way. Thank you for your time, Johanna, but I really should be going."

"Nay, I understand, but do come again when you have the time," said the crusader. "I extend this to you as well, Banshee Queen. Better to sit in sunlight than that dreadful, gloomy atmosphere yonder over hill where the Church of Darkness resides. I don't know how anyone can walk about that place and not crash into something or someone."

"You forgot to add 'and not getting shanked over it'," said the Banshee Queen.

Johanna grimaced. "Yes, there is that. What a terrible fate to befall those who knock over the presiding Dark Lord's precious pottery."

"Come now, Ranger-General, I'll take you back to the Manor."

"What about the papers?"

Sylvanas snorted. "Screw them. They can wait a little longer."

The Ranger-General resigned to shrug her shoulders. "Well…if that's how you feel, but hey, it's your ass."

The Banshee Queen nodded slowly as she led the other to the double doors. "Yes. Indeed, it is my ass. Mine. Not yours." She pushed open one of the doors and bowed low at the waist, arm swept in a grand gesture toward the road. "After you."

The living Sylvanas was taken aback but nonetheless touched by this gesture. "Oh! Why, thank you. How very kind of you." She started walking.

Then the undead Sylvanas emitted a single bark of laughter. "Psyche!" She cut in front of the other, spun around, and shut the door in her face. The shock of it ran through the Ranger-General like electricity through a lightning rod, and by the time she registered the sound of the crossbar falling down into place she had decided to run face-first into the doors.

She snatched the handles and shook and pulled them. "SYLVANAS!" she roared.

"Have fun at church, loser!" the Banshee Queen called from the other side, her voice muffled. "Let your noobs learn from a real Windrunner! At least _I_ have a statue!"

"AT LEAST I DIDN'T DIE AND LET MY COUNTRY FALL! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!" The Ranger-General banged her fists and punctuated the end of her sentence with a swift kick that ran shockwaves up her leg.

"Easy there, friend," Johanna said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's nothing to fret over."

"Nothing to fret over? We're locked in!"

"Do you see how big these doors are? They're big enough for a demon like Diablo to walk through unhindered; there's no need to duck underneath or turn to the side to get through."

"Your point being?"

"You haven't noticed already? Here, let me show you." Johanna reached inside the depths of her robe and procured a keycard on a lanyard. She stepped forward, held the card up to the middle of the doors…and jammed it in. She remained in this position for several seconds.

There was a clicking sound, and with both benevolence and a hint of smugness she pushed the doors outward. The Banshee Queen Sylvanas was gone, but blinding sunlight flooded in and cast Johanna in a halo-like aura. It forced the Ranger-General to shield her eyes until it was obscured by graying clouds.

"Wh-What was that just now?" she asked. "I thought these doors were made of wood!"

"But they are… _mimic wood_ , that is. 'Tis a kind of wood that is grown only in the furthest reaches of the Nexus…and only in places where the Realm of Darkness has taken root. It's very malleable material, but also very difficult to meld with current technology; it's one of the reasons why it takes many years to cultivate and nurture it, and why there are so few artisans. Although you must admit, it makes for great anti-burglar security, doesn't it? A Hero, not even one of demonic origin, can dare blow these walls apart."

"Unless you have the key."

"Unless you have the key," Johanna agreed, and then frowned, disappointed. "I suppose this means you won't stick around then."

"Pardon my Common in these hallowed halls, but hell no! That bitch is a total goner when I get my hands on her! That's my class she's going to mess with! What's she going to teach them, scream the Darkness out of the darklings? They're more apt to get laryngitis than make any headway! I'm really sorry, Johanna, but I have to go! NOW!" The Ranger-General rushed through the doors and into the outside world. "I KNOW ALL YOUR HAUNTS, SYLVANAS! YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING IF YOU THINK THE LACK OF SLEEP IS GOING TO KEEP YOU FROM ME!"


	37. Chapter 37

**Title:** Here and Back Again: Road Trip  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas meets the Elite Tauren Chieftains."  
 **Notes1:** So I do apologize for not getting this out sooner. A lot's happened in the past month since I last updated; plus, I've gotten into raiding with my guild on WoW during the weekdays for a trial period to see if I'm eligible to join the main group, so there hasn't been too much time to work on this chapter. On top of that, too, this particular chapter became a part of the longer short story arc of Sylvanas coming into the Nexus and, unsuccessfully, trying to find a way out. I'll be going back in the future and update the chapter titles when they're uploaded.  
 **Notes2:** I'll admit I haven't gotten around to also updating the prompt dump and the timeline to comply with the new skins released on the heels of HotS 2.0. I've always wanted a Magical Girl!Sylvanas skin, so I was disappointed to see her Warchief incarnation instead. Then again, I was hoping to see MoP!Jaina so we could finally have a chapter where HotS!Jaina gets a dose of reality and Sylvanas goes "I TOLD YOU SO". So in compliance with the skins, I have to also update the documents to accommodate Probius, Cassia, Genji, and D. Va.  
 **Notes3:** I think this chapter has been the most fun I've had in a while because, you know, it's E.T.C. And when you throw in two more variants, well, you get this. I may or may not have been unconsciously inspired by some of my more...bizarre encounters with customers.

* * *

Route 80 was a long, miserable stretch of worn blacktop and tall, wild grass that could have passed on into eternity and no one would be none the wiser. Perhaps that was why, for the past hour, Sylvanas was of the belief that people could keep walking down this road and fall off an edge into oblivion that didn't exist.

 _Yes, but for all I know, these people are retarded enough to believe that and think the Hubworld is flat._

She stared at the road map she had pilfered from the disintegrating body of a hitchhiker who got much too chummy with her, tracing the red line indicating the realm's highways from one corner of the map to the other…and then on the back side where it looped around…and around…and back again to the very beginning. There were even several wide, curling loop-de-loops at the very bottom of the page.

 _Someone ought to get dragged from their seat and shot for this! Hell, drag them all out and do away with them execution-style: the company that came up with this bright idea of making maps of King's Crest, the cartographers that make them, the suppliers that deliver these throughout the realm, the idiots that buy them, the garbage disposal folks in their fancy trucks that pick up trash during the week._

It was a pleasant thought. Then she remembered that no one, not even children and pets and wild animals, could die and stay dead, each and every one of them—including Sylvanas herself, as Uther had wearily tried to explain to her—was afflicted and bound to some virus or supernatural phenomenon or whatever it was called the transition not even mere seconds they were born or dragged into the Nexus. One wouldn't even need a Hall of Storms to bring them back; reality itself would reform them and it would constitute as a 'blink-and-you'll-miss-it' moment.

Thinking of reality, and the foolish means she used to try to find a loophole in the transition, caused her to crumple the map into a ball and hurl it away, as hard as she could, into the grass. _I want nothing to do with this world,_ she thought. _I want nothing to do with anyone or anything or this stupid Way of the Nexus horsecrap. I want out!_

And it would have to be done as soon as possible, because not even a week had passed and she still refused to put her signature to all the paperwork the League was insisting for her to finish so she could participate in some defunct gladiatorial sport the Powers thought it was a brilliant idea for the mindless masses to slobber over and fork over their precious gald to fill the coffers the government was blowing on to continually repair the messes other people were making before she was yanked from her cozy seat of bones in Undercity. Someone—she thought it was that one girl, Nova—warned her that if she didn't sign soon, the League was going to send their muscle after her. Not the minions, where a majority was created through the clockwork machinations of the forts and keeps dotting King's Crest and Luxoria, remnants from ages past when the Erewhon Gates were still active. Not the local police or the Nexus Investigation Bureau. There were others, she said. The Realm Knights of the Spaces In-Between, they who had the ability to jump between dimensions and manipulate them at their beck and call and answered not only to the Powers That Be but the Nexus as a whole. They would wait, give her time to change her mind or become resigned and drag herself back to the Shire-by-the-Rocks. If she came back, then life went on and she would bruise a sore ego.

If she didn't, then they would hunt her down, kick her ass several hundred ways, and make her sign up—in ink, digital fingerprints, or blood.

 _Blood is very messy,_ Nova said. _Did you know it's really hard to wash out?_

Sylvanas sneered. _Let them come. No matter how many times they get back up, I'll take as many as I can with me. And even when they should take me back and force me to play their game…well, I'm as just a criminal here as I am on Azeroth. What difference is a change in environments going to make?_

She tilted her head to the sky, judged the position of the sun, and sighed. Nightfall would arrive very soon, and given how much time spent on the road and not seeing so much as a decent motel or wayward footpath striking off into the wilderness she was left with two options.

The first was to press on into the night until she managed to find a place to either break into or hunker down until sunrise and continue onward. A logical idea, but that would risk drawing attention and cause the authorities to suddenly gain mach speed and nail her ass.

The second was to give in to her inner vagrant, find a nice spot in the grass, and wait for the night to pass. Or maybe force herself to sleep. Sleep was for the mortal and the weak, but if she slept that gave someone—something—ample opportunity to take advantage of that vulnerability. Nothing sucked more than having a random beast minding its own business…only to stumble upon some equally random person who was trespassing on its territory and proceed to chase her out as far as it felt like it before getting bored and returning to where it was and what it was doing.

She scoffed. That sounded too much like the troubles she had heard of adventurers having back home. She would not stoop to their level.

 _Walking it is, then._

And so she walked. The sun was a low disc on the horizon, spilling light like liquid across the street and sending her shadow far and away from her. Creatures stirred in the grasses or, perhaps in an epileptic fit thinking they were about to be run over by a sudden vehicle (when she hadn't so much as seen one, let alone one drawn by an animal), darted out and reached the safety of the other side (hopefully to be eaten by an even bigger, carnivorously-minded animal, she thought). Her footsteps echoed off the pavement in leathery rebounds—slap, slap, slap, slap. Sylvanas imagined the sound as her backhanding everyone in the realm, all of them waiting in line.

Insects droned—dragonflies buzzing right by her, mosquitoes seeking (and failing) to suck from her an ounce of blood, fireflies winking in and out in the greenery.

Minutes passed, and the sun continued its descent. A flock of birds—they looked like geese—crossed the sky in a V formation.

A bird cawed. Quite loudly, she surmised, as she looked to the heavens for where it could be. The first stars of the night were showing, alien constellations obscured in the dark she could not decipher.

Her ears flicked and swiveled, catching the sound of something very soft and very faint coming from behind her. She slowed her pace and focused on the source, wondering if she should draw her bow from its sling. The sound increased as it grew closer, a low, heavy _duh-duh-dump, duh-duh-dump_ tempo that made the blacktop quake beneath her feet. Something else followed in irregular accompaniment—of metal and rubber bouncing. Hydraulics, and she sneered at the memory rising unbidden to her forethought: Horde adventurers coming to and from Undercity in goblin go-karts and orcish motorcycles, tearing up clods of grass, tearing up those ridiculous treads as they floored the gas pedal and left behind the stink of burnt rubber and dark plumes of exhaust. Some were even stupid enough to try driving over the ravine where the plague bubbled and oozed below. A shame it was so…diluted. And shallow.

The horn honked, rapid successions from a hand tapping on it. Slowly, Sylvanas turned around, ignoring the voice in her head that sounded an awful like her living counterpart to _KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD, SLINGBLADE, SOMEONE COULD BE LINING UP A SHOT AND IT'LL BE ALL YOUR FAULT_ , but she hadn't seen another person since that poor, blissful bastard. Who would even think to attack her out of the blue?

The tauren pulled up beside her and rocked the car up and down. She took a whiff of the air and glared at the passenger, another tauren, let the pipe drop from his mouth and blow what she thought was a very bad attempt at a smoke ring. The third cow-man turned away from observing the countryside and popped the collar of his wife beater at her, nodding knowingly. She didn't know what she was supposed to know about.

"Hey, baby, what's shaking!" said the driver, waving to her with his three-fingered hand. He had rubber treads strapped across a broad, bare chest dusted by a drooping, pink goatee. "Why ya walkin' down the street wit' such a long face?"

She scowled. "Because I'm stuck here with you, that's why."

"Bah! Why you gotta be that way? C'mon, girl, turn that frown upside down and smile! That face looks better on a horse, and you certainly ain't a horse!" He flexed his arms across his chest and above his chest for emphasis.

"I don't do smiles."

"Honey's got some sass, though," said the backseat tauren. His voice was a low, rumbling Southern drawl. At the heated look she drew at him, he shrugged and added, "Can't go through life without doin' somethin'."

Sylvanas said nothing. Her ears flattened against the sides of her skull.

The driver chuffed. "Man! Cat got your tongue! Anybody have a spray bottle?"

The passenger threw his head back and laughed. His blonde hair was a wild mess, as though a Fourth of July firework was frozen in mid-explosion, and the corners of his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. "You look like a cat! A…A really blue, really…funny-looking cat!" He regarded his variants. "Can cats be blue?"

The driver shrugged. "Hell if I know. Hey!" He called, and let up off the brake pedal. Sylvanas was walking away from them and didn't bother to give them a second glance as he slowed the low-rider to a crawl. "Baby, where ya goin'?"

"Away," she growled.

"Away? Away from what?"

"Why do you care? You're as stupid as the rest."

"Hey! Hey hey hey hey! Stupid is as stupid does! And stupid isn't stupid if stupid tries to help and _suc-ceeds!_ "

"And what could you possibly offer me?"

The backseat tauren shrugged, the muscles in his arms shifting underneath. "Can't help a gal if she don't tell. No prosper without nurture."

"Girl's gotta toke! That's the way to prosperity!" the rock star blared, lifting the pipe to his lips. After a moment, he let go and exhaled. His eyes rolled to the back of their sockets, lashes fluttering. " _Oooo-weee!_ Damn, son!"

Sylvanas made a disgusted sound. "No thanks." She quickened her pace, moving ahead of the car.

Yet she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the car jump to life and suddenly pushed forward before abruptly settling down to a comfortable speed that could match her. "Ya don't know unless ya try, girl!" said the driver.

She scoffed. "Maybe I don't want to."

"Is it because you think it's not gonna work? Is it because you're scared?"

"Who said I was scared?" She shot him a venomous look.

"Maybe not on the outside you aren't, but on the inside you're a whole bundle of stage fright. And baby, look at yourself and look back at me—"

"I don't _want_ to look at you—"

"—because I'm a legit, one-hundred-percent grade-A, clap-if-you-believe rock god! The Elite Tauren Chieftain! Even I get the heeby-jeebies—"

"And the pot shakes," said the cowboy.

"And the pot shakes when I step into the light and SHRED!" The passenger capped it off with a high-pitched, yodeling scream. He tossed his head back and banged, hair flying, flashing the sign of the hook 'em horns. Sylvanas flinched, ears lowering even more; she thought they would snap and fall from her head and chided herself for having such a childish thought.

"Wait. You said you're the Elite Tauren Chieftain?" she asked.

The driver gave her a smart, sharp nod. "Damn straight, doll-face! E.T.C.! Easy to remember as your A-B-C's and one-two-threes! Well, I'm the Chief—Head Honcho, Big Kahuna, the likes. Guy in the back is Elite Tauren Cowboy, but ev'rybody calls him Clint."

"I liked Roland better, but somebody else took it," said Clint, and he tut-tutted. "Prob'ly some human desperado who come passin' by like nobody's business. It's always gotta be the humans."

"Yeah yeah yeah, that's great, hombre. Oh, and this fella here's Glam Metal. He's kinda goin' through a David Bowie period right now. Say hi, Glam."

"Gimme five!" he cried, and held out his hand, palm up. Sylvanas glared at it and considered stabbing it through with the dagger at her hip. "Don't be shy, gimme five!" He shook his hand, and her glare intensified.

"I don't do secret handshakes," she said.

He chuffed. "Baby, I ain't asking for a handshake. I'm running low on reefer. C'mon, gimme five and I'll pay ya back."

"She gonna give you five in the nose if you keep it up, man!" said the Chief, and reached over to shove Glam's arm down. "Lay off the pipe, you actin' ratchet!" He clicked his tongue. "Damn!" he grumbled, shaking his massive head.

Sylvanas wanted to do the same thing. Instead, she said, "So, wait. Let me get this straight. You're telling me…you named yourself after The Tauren Chieftains? That rock and roll band that plays at the Darkmoon Faire?" The only known rock 'n' roll band to have come out of the Horde after the Third War and become an overnight sensation on Azeroth and Outland? She gave the Chief, Clint, and Glam an appraising look that quickly soured. "So you're a poser."

"A poser?!" he bellowed incredulously. "A _poser_? Baby girl, if anything, _they_ are posing _me_! I gave the Chieftains the means to break free from the chains of wholesome family values and dinosaur-aged cultural traditions! I gave the Chieftains the inspiration to hit the pipes and get in touch with their inner poets! I gave the Chieftains the providential luck, NOT THE SHEER COINCIDENCE, of getting' off their keesters, find a sweet ride, and HIT THE ROAD, JACK, AND DON'TCHA COME BACK NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE—"

"And they never came back no more~" Clint said in a rumbling, singsong drawl.

"Which means they did come back," said Sylvanas.

A single yellow eye peered up at her through a slash on the brim of his hat. "Hon, just roll with it."

"So, you mind letting us in?" asked the Chief. "We ain't too proud ta beg." He fluttered his eyelashes.

"Only if you let me cut open your stomachs open and use your blood and intestines as a ritual to communicate with forces greater than the Powers."

"…Okay, so we ain't that proud, but whaddah we gotta do to make it worth your while? Like, uh, I'd give ya money but I ain't exactly rollin' right now; we all three been here about a few years."

"I don't want money."

The Chief slung an arm over the side of the car, put a hand to his chin in thought, snapped his fingers. "You like pets, right? Birds? Cats? How 'bouta dog? Chicks love dogs, and lemme tell ya, you're a _fine-looking_ chickadee."

"I'm undead."

"And that ain't gonna stop me from praisin' you where it counts! Can I get an 'amen', boys?!"

"Amen, brother," said Clint. He cocked his fingers in the shape of a gun and pointed it at Sylvanas, clicking his tongue around teeth bared in a grin.

"AW MAN, I'M ALL OUT!" Glam shouted, and put his head to his breastbone to better gaze into the empty pipe. "Shit!" he hissed under his breath. He undid his seatbelt, popped open the glove compartment, and started rooting around inside. "Dude! Where'd you put the greens at?"

"Man, who cares about the greens right now! Gimme an amen!" said the Chief.

"Why? We haven't eaten yet!"

"You don't think she's hot? Come on, man, take a look—a damn long look—and tell me she'd be hotter with a dog." The Chief grabbed the back of Glam's collar and hauled him upright.

His mop of blonde hair turned toward her, looking more like a swamp monster than a bull. He tossed it back and managed to study her through the overgrown strands. She scowled at him. He shrugged. "Yeah yeah, man, she cool. She cool. She just needs a…a…" He snapped his fingers a few times. "Whuzzit called again? It, uh, it has lots of hair—"

"Lots of dogs have a lot of hair," said the Chief.

"I _know_ that, dingus! 'S not small but it ain't big, either. Kinda looks like someone blasted it wit' a blow dryer and made its hair all poofy."

"A Chow Chow?" said Clint.

Glam clapped his hands. "That's the one!"

The Chief narrowed his eyes at her. "Nah, man. She don't have enough hair and it ain't that bushy. Think a Rottweiler would do her some good."

"A Rottweiler?! Because she a corpse?"

He nodded. "Maybe so. She might act bitchy on the outside, but I bet somewhere in that smokin' hot bod full of rage and general misanthropy, there's a woman that yearns for love. A woman who gives…like a tree that bears fruit. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside."

Sylvanas made a disgruntled sound and frowned. Her ears flapped in part due to a breeze. She tried not to shuffle from one foot to the other.

Clint coughed into his hand, cleared his throat. "Uh, bro," he began, "tree's only soft on the inside _when it's dead_. And if it's dead—"

"That's like saying squid ink noodles are atrocious!"

"Man, that sounds disgusting!" said Glam, grimacing. "Damn!"

"I know, right?! A fruit might look rotten but it still tastes great! Don't discriminate!"

"I _ain't_ ," Clint growled.

"You got an answer for everything! Mister smarty-pants!"

Clint puffed air from his cheeks. "Bah! Just forget about it! You wanna know what kind o' dog would compliment her well?"

The Chief shrugged dramatically. "Not anymore! Not after what you just said!"

"Well, brother, I'm-a give it to you, anyway. I think she needs a puppy."

"A puppy?" Glam and the Chief echoed together and stared at Clint, disbelieving.

"Say what, brother?" said the Chief. "A puppy? You mean a little rat for her to put on 'er lap so it can yap at ev'ryone every time they walk by? She deserves better'n that!"

"Of course," he agreed, "but dogs are only like that if the person doesn't raise 'em right. I see this young miss here and think she could use it to…to," he searched for the right word, "to bounce off her. Make her grounded. A bit of sweetness goes well with a bit of sourness, know what I'm sayin'?. No offense, milady." He tipped his hat to Sylvanas, smiling.

She folded her arms over her bosom. "I don't do dogs." No, not since Mishka and Armi visited her and requested—for the umpteenth time (she lost count)—to make the Undercity a breeding ground for those ridiculous stone lion-dog-things after the Pandaria campaign had ended. "I don't do cats and I don't do birds. I don't do any animal." Very few Windrunners in the past had an animal companion; they were best reserved for those tree-hugging hippie night elves. "As a matter of fact, I don't want to do anything with everything," she said, her tone becoming increasingly hostile.

"Baby girl, you have to want somethin' in life!" said the Chief, shrugging with palms up. "Can't do nothin' for nothin'!"

Sylvanas cackled. "You know what I want? You really know what I want? It's real simple: I want out! I want to leave the Nexus! Everyone and their grandmother has the IQ of a hyperactive child whose parents didn't have the money or the insurance to pay for a lobotomy; I can't get a job, open a bank account, or even get free housing unless I participate in an interdimensional tournament run by a bunch of old, lazy-ass corporate suits and highborn, inbred sociopaths with one hand in the money jar and the other on the open window sill; the gods are powerless, lazy NEETs that can't sprinkle a little of that _magic fairy dust_ you call a _miracle_ and solve the economical, geographical crises that seem to plague this land; and even better yet, they decide every four weeks—maybe three, if they feel astronomically efficient—to drag some big-name villain or no-name loser hero no one's ever heard of or cared about from their place in time and drop them into the middle of nowhere in the hopes that, hey, maybe, just maybe, they'll find their way to civilization and not get lost! And the best part of all this is? _WE. CAN'T. DIE!_ " She shouted this last sentence, and it echoed back at her on the wide, empty road. She wanted to force the air from her body to make her pant heavily, emphasize the impression she was giving them; she forewent it, preferring to give them her best, murderous glare.

The Chief, Clint, and Glam blinked at her.

"So?" asked the Chief.

Sylvanas squawked. "So?! What do you mean, 'so'? You _want_ to be immortal?"

"Ain't that a good thing?" asked Glam.

"No!" she cried. Then, in a tight voice, "No, it isn't. There are people here I want dead, people I can't stand, and can't stay dead! And for what? To bring in the stupid tourists and their stupid, bloody money! They are so ignorant of the severity of their crimes and yet they'll cheer them on in the stands and give them titles and lands and money and whatever the hell comes with the Board's welcoming package!" She sighed and slouched over. "I just…I just want to go home…and kill somebody." She would have liked the first person to be the idiot deathguard who thought it was a good idea to let those two mercs into Undercity in the first place with Operation: Quilen Restoration. After that…well, after that, she could not care less if she waged war on all of Azeroth if it meant she could wipe any association of this place from her mind.

The tauren hummed and grumbled, stroking their goatees and tugging their hat and hair and exchanging precursory glances at one another for answers. One of them, they sounded the same regardless of regional accents, said "Group huddle!" and the men leaned in close and whispered and gestured. More than one time did Glam tossed laughably discreet looks over his shoulder at Sylvanas, and more than one time did Clint stare past his variant and more than one time did the Chief cock an eyebrow and purse and smack his meaty lips together. In that moment, Sylvanas truly believed he was more cow than cow-man, and could not bring herself to look away.

The Chief clapping his big hands together did. "O' course! Why didn't I think o' that?"

"Now hold on, man," said Glam. "She ain't been here long enough! What if it does—"

"Nah, it won't! You gotta believe!"

"That only works if it's done toward you!"

"Brother, get outta here wit' that nonsense! You, too, are a rock god!"

"Heavy metal."

"Yeah yeah yeah, one's stronger than the other. You a god of metal, homie, and Clint there's one-hunner-percent country."

"Bah! Ain't nobody ever listens to country anymore."

"Then why the hell do all these universes hold the Country Music Awards? He still make all the women swoon and the men get inta bar fights 'n' drink 'emselves into stupors because their honey don't smile back or their dog died."

"I miss Roger," Clint said suddenly, and bowed his head in solemn reminiscence. "Roger would've been a god, too."

"Man, Roger ain't dead!" said Glam. "All you did was throw the bone. You couldn't have known a lesser rift was gon' open up."

"And you know I could not care less about your dog and where he or his body parts wound up at," said Sylvanas, "so how about telling me what you three are planning to do to get me out of the Nexus." And a way to avoid the authorities, but she wasn't expecting these guys to do jack about that. What could the power of rock, metal, and sleepy old peoples' country do against the might of an intergalactic federal law enforcement agency?

The Chief cracked his knuckles. They were like bombs going off. "Baby, all ya need to do is to get in the car and let us take care o' the rest."

"Not happening," she said.

"Why not?" He sounded almost hurt.

"Because I don't ride with strangers."

The Chief put his hand akimbo and gave her a pointed look. "Baby girl, whaddaya think we've been doing all this time? You already know us!"

"Really?" Sylvanas flipped the hair from her eyes with a hand. "My mother taught me that a man must always ask a woman's name when he's introducing himself…and you've never asked."

The tauren froze, their eyes bulging. Even Clint seemed to have gone stiff. The Chief rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, uh, good point there. What the peeps call ya back home?"

"Sylvanas Windrunner," she said.

"And ya show name?"

"I am the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, boy. I am more than just show."

He tossed his head back, roaring laughter. "I believe it! Well, puddin' pop, why don'tcha come on over? Boys and I are gonna be late to a gig at some hokey restaurant but since you're here now we can get there before they charge us double!"

Sylvanas shrugged. "Not that I care for your mundane proclivity, but…when are you supposed to start?"

"In an hour," said Glam.

"And how far are you from this 'hokey restaurant'?"

"'S bit of a short drive," said Clint. "'Bout fifteen if the traffic's light and you know where you're going. Up ahead's the turn-off that leads to a couple other highways—north, south, west. We're goan east, Miz Sylvanas, onto the Interstate 319 and take it all the way into the Quadrants."

"So how the hell do you expect to get there? What, do you have some of that goblin ingenuity you call nitro built into that thing?" Sylvanas gestured at the lowrider's underbelly.

The Chief grinned. "Damn straight! You drive, too?"

"And die a fourth time? I have not and I never will."

"Damn, girl! You hardcore! But, nah, baby, ain't just nitro we gonna use."

"Even better'n that!" said Glam. "We gonna blow your soul outta ya!"

"I am not toking up," she said as she opened the door and seated herself next to Clint. He towered her as an ancient redwood does to a puny mortal. Clint looked down at her and again tipped his hat, winked and clicked his teeth suggestively. Sylvanas grimaced.

"Don't gotta toke to free ya soul, girl! We rip through the fabric of _SPACE-TIME_ just to get around the Nexus! So what if it's illegal? It helps to be _PUNK-CHOO-ALL_! 'S not like we're dis…discombob…discombobu…mucking up the Lifestream!"

"Time stream," Clint corrected.

"Whatever it's called! If some o' ya peeps can wield the power of aether storms, then I don't see why we can't take shortcuts through time. Like—and bear with me on this," he gave them each a pointed look, "what're they gonna do if the Powers bring in somebody who can jump through time or, or, someone who can be everywhere and nowhere at once? Huh? What they gonna do, put a magnet on 'em so ev'ry time they make a jump the thing goes _BWING!_ and pulls 'em right back? Put tinfoil on their heads so they can't tell the future and cause the eek-conomy to crash harder than the times we've stage dived the arenas, the football stadiums, the wedding ceremonies and the funeral parlor parties and missed 'cause we scared the sin out o' 'em? Tell me, brothers!"

"Okay, bro, I'll tell ya," said the Chief. He opened up a compartment underneath the steering wheel. "Take this here reefer." He shoved the baggy into Glam's hand and closed his fingers over it. "Snort it, snuff it, huff it, I don't care, just do it. You're gettin' inta one o' your moods again."

His brows furrowed. "…What mood?"

"The kind o' mood where you start talkin' more sense than 's humanly possible."

Glam looked between the plastic baggy and the bong. "What about the Snickers?"

"We don't have Snickers."

"Aw dammit!" he proclaimed, and Glam stuffed the greens in the pipe, grabbed his lighter and lit up. The greens smoldered, broke down and went from a crumbling ball of tumbleweed to dust.

Sylvanas sniffed the air and tried not to make herself cough. Nerve endings be damned, she could still smell, but, "Do you have to do it right here, right now?"

"It's an acquired taste, skinny-minny," said the Chief.

"By the gods!" she said tightly, and wrinkled her nose as a waft of pot-smoke flew in her face.

"Besides, it helps deal with the, er, turbulence."

"We're in a car."

The Chief stared at her from over his shoulder through hooded eyes. "Honey, where we're going, it don't matter…and it ain't gonna stop us." The car was still shaking, the upholstery still jumping beneath their fingertips and making their ears numb at the edges. The song about the guy trying to do things before he ended up screwing his entire life over because he got high had long since ended, so now the current song playing was about some chick reminding the listeners that it didn't matter where she came from, she was still Jenny from the block-

The Chief turned off the stereo.

"Hey, man, what the hell!" Glam cried, reaching over the stick shift to turn it back on.

The Chief snatched his wrist and shook his head sadly. "She not hardcore enough, man."

"But I love 'Jenny from the Block!'"

"And it don't give enough power to cross space-time. I'm sorry, brah." He watched Glam tear his arm away and sulk, double over and hit the pipe again. He sighed loudly, blowing smoke from his nostrils. He grabbed the handle at the bottom left side of the seat and cranked it back so that he was almost staring up at the darkening sky.

Clint tapped Sylvanas on the shoulder. "Ya might wanna do the same, sugah. Rides are always a little rough."

"Can't be any worse than being caught off guard and pulled from your own timeline," she said, but she tightened the seat belt around her chest and leaned the seat back several notches. The air was hazy, thick and teasing. It pressed its fingers on her head as if to take it and lift it from her shoulders, into the night past the stratosphere where the storms and the Spaces reigned supreme. She glanced at Glam, at the pipe in his hands, and then at the sky, trying not to worry.

The Chief pressed some unseen buttons, and, after bearing witness to feeling the vehicle jack itself several inches off the ground, the car began to move on its own. He undid his seat belt and _stood_ on the seat, one dirt-scuffed, spiked boot on top of the door. He unhooked a tube from his belt, suppressed the button, and—

Sylvanas blinked. Then she blinked some more.

Yes. Yes, that was indeed a guitar he was holding.

A massive double-bladed axe carved and shaped into the guitar. The symbol of the Horde stood out in stark red contrast on the body, the paint scuffed here and nicked and scratched there.

She sniffed. Underneath the pot and a musky, leathery scent that had to be cologne coming from Clint, was the sharp, unmistakable tang of gasoline and, rising to the surface like a volcanic eruption raring to go, nitromethane. "So…how does the guitar play into all of this?"

The Chief grinned. He tapped the pick between his fingers once, twice, three times.

Sylvanas huffed. "No, really, how does it—"

The world became sound and lights and warp speed. The colors blurred and lost shape and focused to multiple parallel lines of energy. The drugs and the nitro and the cologne and the power of pure, unadulterated rock slammed into her as one colossal tidal wave, locking her into her seat and pushing her deep, deep into its cushioned upholstery. The Chief tipped his head back and yowled, a _whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-WHOOA!_ tearing from the lowest pits of his stomach, up his barrel chest and out the bovine, throaty caverns. Sylvanas clenched her teeth, felt them click and gnash and grind even as the winds pulled the skin from her lips, her eyes, her cheeks back and made them billow and flap like the paper flappers on bicycle wheels. Her ears, she was sure, were flattened against her skull; she was also sure they might as well have been ripped off, how numb and empty her head felt, filled only with the sounds of the engine roaring, the music blasting, the Chief off his goddamned rocker. She managed to force her eyeballs to move beyond their periphery and catch a glimpse at Clint, who was now wearing aviators, had his arms neatly folded over his chest, and good gods, how in the nine hells was his hat still on? She looked at Glam in the passenger, laughing with wild abandon, arm thrown up in the air with his hand flashing the devil horns, and his head, his stupid, messy head, it was banging back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She wanted to reach out against the wind, against gravity, against this batshit insane force of will the Chief was projecting, grab Glam's head and keep it still. She wanted to see it come off his neck like a cork being popped from a shaken wine bottle and watch it soar into the unknown and hope it didn't wind up turning into a constellation that would eternally stare back at her whenever she deigned to chance upon a clear, midnight sky.

She saw her arm, her right arm, claw from the folds of the seat, shaking from adrenaline and propulsion. Fingernails dug into the cushions, made rips and tears in it and left deep-seated imprints. In a moment she would later describe as sheer stupidity, she wondered how it was possible for her to able to move it, but inch by inch it climbed into the air, straightened as though she were about to salute the insanity of it all.

Her middle and ring fingers closed. Her thumb, forefinger, and pinky stood forth to attention.

If Sylvanas could widen her eyes, she would.

 _GOD! DAMMIT!_

"GIVE IN~ TO THE BEAST INSIDE YA!" the Chief cried in a priestly tone. "COME ON, BANSHEE QUEEN, RAISE YOUR HEAD HIGH AND ROCK OUT! YEAH-AHHHH-AHHHH-AHHHHHH!"

Then he shredded again—faster, harder, louder, more powerful than before. Glam laughed just as loud and headbanged just as hard, just as fast.

And the last thing Sylvanas remembered, before the lowrider peaked and crossed the threshold of the storm, was headbanging with him.

* * *

The first thing she saw when she woke was…well, it was very hard to see what it was when there was very bright, very blinding light shining down on your face. She gasped and turned her head aside…only to see more of the light. It was a warm light, the kind you would feel on a summer's day when the sun was not so blisteringly hot to breathe in.

Sylvanas did not like the light. _Is this it?_ _Is this how I die? Headbanging against my will to the beat of some madman with a pink goatee?_ Something soft and fluffy flittered across her legs, on her chest, brushed by her head. She wondered if these were clouds from Heaven. _Yes, this is it. I'm dead. I'm not in hell as I ought to be. Why is that? Why here?_ Somewhere far, far away, people chortled. _Ah, those must be the souls of the pure having the time of their lives. Perhaps they're finally reuniting with their loved ones after so long._

A warm hand, a heavy hand, caressed at her heat. It was the faintest of touch, and yet it made her seize. _I wonder if Alleria is here._ She paused, blinked. _What would she think of me?_ Her vision cleared to show she was in a small round room with bright orange, polished wood. The floor was cool and grainy beneath her hands, covered in a sea of white that shifted and roiled like an early morning fog. _Maybe she's in here…although I can't say I pictured heaven to look like a…a barrel? Bah, who cares? I…suppose I shouldn't keep her waiting._ So Sylvanas turned her head to look upon her sister's face.

A chicken stared back, its tiny, beady eyes unblinking.

Sylvanas blinked. _Hah?_

"BA-KAW!" said the chicken, and pecked her between the eyes. Sylvanas grunted and swatted at it; she missed, her arm going wide. The chicken ruffled its feathers, cawed again, and hopped off her stomach onto the floor.

The sea of white was actually a floor crammed full of chickens, clucking and fluttering and strutting about. Some jumped and glided across the room, trailing down and molt like freshly fallen snow.

Sylvanas sat up. The lights overhead were not the light of the sun in a cloudless heaven but shaded heat lamps hanging from the ceiling, and these shone down on rows of nest boxes and chicken coops occupying both sides of the wall to and away from her. She sniffed and was surprised to find it didn't smell of rotten egg and…other surprises.

A girl sat across from her. She was blond, young, pretty, wearing a white and blue skinsuit.

She was human.

Sylvanas glared. Nova started. "…This isn't what it looks like, I swear."

"And what do you think it looks like?" Sylvanas drawled, low and dangerous. A chicken climbed onto her lap and tapped its beak against her shins.

A blush bloomed on the girl's cheeks. Her eyes flitted nervously left to right, right to left. "I-I dunno. You didn't get teleported here like I did about…umm…" She thought. "Oh shoot, how long have I been here? Feels like I just knocked back that sample that magician offered me. What was his name again…? A-Anyway! I suppose we should, er, get ourselves cleaned up. Doesn't seem like the place's closed for the day…night…err…Do you have the time? No? Al-Alright then, guess we'll find out soon enough." She started plucking feathers from her hair.

"Nova," said Sylvanas, "where are we?"

"We're in the chicken coop—Oh. _Oh_. You meant where in general. Uh…I think we're at the Home'ard Road Bar and Grill. Real nice place they've got here! Hey, do you, uh, wanna get somethin' to eat? I could go for a full slab of ribs right now. Maybe they have something for undead elves, too. You know, other than, um, brains and blood and, um, such. Maybe magic?"

Sylvanas scowled. This girl still had so much to learn about breaking stereotypes. She didn't have a taste for brains, and she hadn't felt the desire to taste magic since that the day the Powers came to her.

But the blood of the Chieftains? Yes. Yes, she could make an arrangement for that.

"What do you say?" Nova asked. "I…I think I have some gold on me to cover us both—oof!"

Sylvanas lobbed the chicken at her, ignoring the way it squawked indignantly and Nova blindly throwing it into the flock beside her. She stood up, brought her cloak around her to wipe the feathers off, and scowled at the unmistakable yolk-shaped stains and egg shell fragments sticking to it.

Ire surging to her throat like bile, she turned toward the door.

"I-I guess that's a yes, then," said Nova, scrambling to her feet.

Sylvanas hummed agreement, palming her hand on the dagger's handle, and all but stormed out.


	38. Chapter 38

**Title:** Humanizing  
 **Description:** "It shouldn't come as a surprise that Sylvanas has hobbies, but - surprise! - it does."  
 **Notes1:** So in the past few weeks, Fanfiction's had this problem in the system where chapter notifications aren't being sent. I don't know if this has been fixed yet, but I've certainly updated well past March 14 with Chapter 37 and again with this one. I'm still busy with my trial period with my raiding guild (and the new job, which is why there has been a lack of update), but for the time being we're taking a couple weeks off to prepare for the opening of the Tomb of Sargeras.  
 **Notes2:** In the meantime, I finished reading Neil Gaiman's "American Gods". I don't follow the show since I was still engrossed in the book at the time. It was a lot more subdued than I expected it to be (very flashy, just like the shounen manga!). I get half my day's reading in while I wait for this toaster of a PC to load in to a match or WoW once it crashes five-six times on the log-in/zone transition screens, so it'll help tremendously while I get back into finishing Stephen King's complete and uncut edition of "The Stand".  
 **Notes3:** This chapter takes place shortly after the events of "How Does That Even Work?", and for further spoilers it also references much of the latter half of what that story's plot will entail. As stated in the Chapter 34 notes, you're not missing much other than the bare basics.  
 **Notes4:** The timeline document is more or less complete, barring a few missing entries. I'll probably upload it DeviantArt when it is complete so readers can have an easier time navigating the chronology rather than going back to older chapters and piece it from there. Also, I added one of my drawings as the cover art for the time being, as I have another idea in mind that'll be more of a group pic than a solo pic of Sylvanas (that is, unless people would prefer having this over the group pic ideation).

* * *

"Lady got doggy?!" a loud, boisterous voice boomed; it was as though Stitches said it right in her ear.

Sylvanas winced and looked up to see the abomination stare at her open-mouthed with all the glee a child could muster. "Yes," she said. "I have a dog. This is Doodle." She nodded at the white-furred puppy. Doodle was busy tugging at the silicon handle of a knotted rope, snarling and digging all four paws into the ground for purchase. He whipped his head back and forth, and Sylvanas' arm whipped back and forth with it. "I adopted him."

"No way in hell," said Orsten, stepping around Stitches to get a better look. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he made a show of leaning down for a better look. His eyes bugged out and his lower lip jutted out at Doodle's ears perking up at his approach, the way his focus swiveled around to meet his, how his black lips curled up in a pink-gummed grin even as his teeth clamped down harder on the toy. "Holy crap. You're an absolute madwoman."

Sylvanas snorted. "What, did my stabbing the Lord of the Storm between the eyes not count?"

"I-It's just that…after everything you've done and how much your, er, illustrious reputation precedes you…I never figured you to be capable of…I didn't think it was possible for you to even feel—"

"Yes, I defied the impossible and did the unthinkable. Fight the power. Go me. Now cease your prattle; you're about to make me capably sick." She glanced at Doodle. His ears were flat against his head. He yanked once, twice, and his paws dug little furrows before black nails dug in. Persistent little rugrat.

"I think it humanizes you," said Jaina, and Sylvanas saw her come around Stitches on the opposite side. The woman swatted aside the swarm of gnats and flies congregating around the intestines hanging from his stomach. "I always knew there had to be more than you than just being a grouch."

"And a murderer," said Orsten conversationally.

Jaina's face fell. "And, uh, that."

"Firestarter!" exclaimed Stitches. "Lady hurt ponies and puppies! They go boom boom boom!" He smacked his hook and cleaver together, and they made a loud, calamitous clanging racket.

It fell further. "Yes, well." She cleared her throat and smoothed out the wrinkles in her robe. "Faults notwithstanding, you have proven many—a lot—of your detractors wrong when they claimed you didn't have a heart. Even if your more…sensible feelings aren't worn on your sleeve, so to say…but they're still there! And for that, I'm glad to know there's more to you than that."

"Good for you," said Sylvanas. "Are you done preaching the good lord's word?"

Jaina's face colored. "Sylvanas, I mean it! Not only did you save Nova from those terrible people, you managed to singlehandedly push back a Lord of the Storm through an Erewhon Gate! Such an accomplishment hasn't been made since before the Age of Kings ended thirty-three thousand years ago! If you hadn't done that and destroyed it, we wouldn't be here today! There wouldn't be a Nexus at all! And Doodle," she said, glancing at the pup with wounded eyes, "he wouldn't have a home or an owner to go back to. Maybe not even a way back to his default sector."

"Except he's still here and you're still here and, by dint or luck or some unholy coincidence, Stitches is still here and so is the Harry Dresden knockoff and everyone else, for better or worse." Sylvanas sniffed, ignoring the affronted face Orsten made. "I hate this place and the Way and its people with an undying passion, but I'd be a damned fool to let some purist troglodytes with outdated 'life unworthy of life' eugenics and a slumbering leviathan from the blackest parts of the Spaces go through their purging unhindered. Neither do I want it all to fall apart because the Houses are blasé to the realms at large unless the circumstances benefit them. So yes, Proudmoore, I will do what I can to ensure it's in at least some recognizable shape. Wherever I go and wherever I please, that is; every other place can get blown up, rebuilt, and blown up again for all I care." She rotated her forearm sideways, and Doodle swerved to the left with a hiss of breath and tossed his head back and forth. His tail flicked wildly.

"What about Nova?" asked Orsten.

"What about her?"

"Well. You saved her. You saved all the transitioned from being kidnapped or, or taken to the camps, or even from being killed from the experiments."

"So?"

"They're very indebted to you."

"As they should be."

"Especially Nova." He frowned. "Even though, someday, she will have to go back to her original timeline."

Sylvanas grunted. She waved her arm back forth in slow and lazy circles, and Doodle followed with scrabbling paws.

"Everyone has a place here," said Jaina, "even those who have been hit hard with the transition. Whatever that reason may be, they have as much right to live their lives the way they want for as long as they remain in the Nexus. Even us, Sylvanas. Oh sure, we participate in the Hero League to help the Houses fill the coffers throughout the realms, but in a way it's almost as if we're starting our lives anew or do things we weren't able to back home." She looked off into the distance, where the sun was a spotlight over the high crowns of the Shire woods. "Sometimes I used to wonder what it'd be like if I wasn't put into the role as ruler of Theramore and mediator between the Alliance and the Horde, where the disputes of the world was settled not in wars but in tournaments such as these. Have you ever thought that, Sylvanas?"

"Why would I want to stop being the Banshee Queen? My people need me in order to survive. You know we're not exactly welcome in either faction. Most of your people would rather have me dead than have us mind our own business in the lands we took from the Scourge."

"But if you were given a chance? Would you take it and all it provided just to live life the way you want it?"

Sylvanas looked up at her from the canopy of hair in her eyes, studying her. It still surprised Jaina, after all this time, how very little gloom there needed to be in order for them to glow. It made them appear soft and effervescent like the coals of dying embers.

Then she returned her attention to Doodle, tightening her hold on the handle that almost slipped away. "It's easy to say you'll do something," she said. "It's another to go through with it. I can't see myself be anything _but_ the Banshee Queen. It's something I have to do. Even if I had the choice between wanting to do it or not, I'd have to do it anyway. But since you asked," she added, seeing the dismay starting to show on Jaina's face, "if I did have a choice of what I wanted to do…" She mulled it over, shrugged, ignored the way Doodle rose and stamped his paws in response. "Well. _Someone_ has to remind the Houses that money doesn't grow on trees nor come out of thin air. _Someone_ has to remind them that resources are not infinite and that there are plenty of realms uncharted and untouched by the Knights that are clearly ripe for the picking. Just don't ask me to be a carpenter."

"Why not? Sylvanas, I didn't know you could draw. I didn't even know you liked to _read_."

"Yes, it's almost as if the concept of hobbies wasn't taught to me at an early age. What an unprecedented discovery you made."

"Wait, you read?" Orsten asked. He coughed a single laugh. He looked as though he couldn't decide whether to keep laughing, cry, or sink into the earth where it would swallow him dry and whole. "What could you possibly like?"

"Death, mayhem, and the annihilation of humanity and all life across an omniversal scale brought upon by the folly of man and the hungers of eldritch, uncaring beings whose shapes go beyond our pseudo-immortal comprehensions of non-Euclidean geometry."

He sighed. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Stitches have hobbies, too!" said the abomination. "Stitches like playtime and pet time and eating time! They feel good! It make Stitches happy!" He glanced at Doodle and opened his cavernous mouth a toothy, drooling smile. "Make Stitches want more."

"Go ahead and try, tubby," Sylvanas rumbled. "I've always wanted to learn how to sow. It'll give me a reason to nail down that surgical precision. I believe my arrows will do the trick." She made to reach behind her shoulder where her quiver full of arrows rested on her back.

Stitches clamped his mouth shut.

"And that's well and dandy!" said Jaina. "Well, the reading and drawing, not the potential macabre sewing. But, what I'm trying to say is, Nova and all the transitioned have the choice now to pursue the help they need and turn over a new leaf that they wouldn't have been able to do in their sectors. Whatever that may be, they'll be happy to know the Powers will guarantee their safety from external interventions with a steadier hand now, and it's all thanks to you." She smiled. "Underneath all that bitterness and misanthropy, you really do care about us. Thank you, Sylvanas, for taking a stand."

Sylvanas harrumphed. "Damn right you should thank me. Now if you'd be so kind as to invite me for some cake that would be just great."

"Cake? Why would you want cake? You can't eat—oh. Oh! Come on, do I really come off as a princess to you?"

"Absolutely," said Sylvanas.

"Stitches love Disney!"

"Without a doubt," said Orsten. "You've got that quintessential Disney Princess aura about you. Nothing wrong with that, though. Girls love that sort of thing. You could just stand there doing nothing and it's guaranteed to draw attention."

"Although it would be nice to see you go postal now and then," said Sylvanas, looking up at her. "People are too _salty_ these days, and you're all sugar and very little spice. Diabetes is a bad thing, you know. A little high blood pressure wouldn't hurt, except with you you'll want to put a stake in everyone who's so much has made eye contact with the Horde. I appreciate someone having a bit of that feistiness; it adds more to their character, and at this moment in time? Well there's not much character going for you. But I suppose there's some room for improvement—and hope—for you yet."

Jaina sighed and rolled her eyes, clenching her fists. "By the Light, Sylvanas! You're lucky I'm a very reasonable person! One of these days I'm going to have it up to here with your incendiary comments and I will show you just how feisty and unrelenting I can be!"

Sylvanas made a coughing sound in her throat that almost sounded like laughter. "You let me know when you reach that point, Proudmoore. It might just make my days a little more interesting."

"OH MY GOD!" Orsten cried. Jaina opened her mouth to ask what was wrong when she saw what happened. A startled, strangled yelp escaped her.

There was a sickening, squelching, tearing sound as Sylvanas' arm, the one holding the toy rope, came apart at the stitched seams below the elbow. It fell to the ground with a bloodless, unceremonious thump, and the fingers of her hand curled around the handle in a vice grip. Doodle let go of the toy and licked his mouth. He wagged his tail and smiled at everyone. "Woof woof!" he said.

Sylvanas stared at the torn limb, then at the rotting sinew and ligaments poking out from the stitching. "Huh. I thought for sure it'd have healed by now."

Stitches blinked at the arm once. He blinked again. Then he tossed his head back and guffawed. "Hyuk-hyuk-hyuk-hyuk! Doodle strong! Doodle gonna be beast when grown up!"

"Woof!" Doodle agreed, and beamed, puffing his little chest with pride.

"Sylvanas, we need to get you to Lieutenant Morales right away!" said Jaina, and stopped herself short from running over to her. "You, too, Detective Orsten! You don't look well at all."

Orsten nodded dumbly and swayed on his feet. He raised one gloved, crooked finger in the air, as though he was in possession of Captain Hook's hook and not his own hand. His gaze was unfocused, his face the softness of overripe cheese. "I…I think I need to lie…" He spun on his heel and dropped to the ground like a dead weight.

"What a pussy!" Sylvanas snorted, turning her nose up at the crumpled body.

"Detective Orsten!" Jaina looked between him and Sylvanas, who was picking up her arm and—by all that was holy, she was flaunting it in front of Doodle as though it was another toy, and he was more than ready to rock and roll. "Sylvanas, for Light's sake, hold onto that thing before he takes it out of your hand! Do you want Doodle to bury it between dimensions?"

Sylvanas shrugged. "I can just break into a graveyard and steal one or buy an arm at an Underworld. Undead are a dime a dozen, you know."

"Yes, and then you'll have wasted your money when you die and it comes back! Please take this seriously, Sylvanas! I don't want to have to see the Novas work themselves into a panic if they should see you like this and think the Lancers are still running amok. Now come along! Stitches, be a dear and please help carry Detective Orsten…in your arms, _your arms!_ "

Stitches stopped and pouted. He had put his weapons into the meat of his back where they rested as rudimentary sheathes, and he had Orsten by the underarms and halfway off the ground. His head was shy of entering the open cavern of his stomach. "You no make things easier! Stitches won't eat trilby. Stitches promise!"

"Just this once, Stitches, please. I don't have enough money for several surgeries to dig him out."

"Bah! Stitches no like, but Stitches do as ice-lady say." He hauled the detective up into the air in one strong tug and caught him in a surprisingly gentle bridal carry. "Ice-lady owe me! I getting hungry!"

Jaina nodded vigorously. "Thank you, Stitches! Don't you worry, I will repay you…on the condition you apply your table manners, that is."

Stitches grinned. "All can eat?"

"Well, there's a limit on how much you can eat at certain places, and we'll have to search for one that's affordable, but—"

"Ice-lady lead way! Then we look on computer web and find best gourmet food in King's Crest! We go tonight!"

"Actually, I have plans tonight—"

"SOON AS POSSIBLE! STITCHES WILL EAT GOOD!" Stitches cried, and laughed as he all but lumbered past Jaina, who jumped aside to avoid the the hook's chain from blowing into her.

She turned pleadingly to Sylvanas. The Banshee Queen shrugged. "You're a smart girl. You'll figure out. Now move, he's waiting." She pointed at the abomination with her detached arm, the hand and the fingers clutching the rope flopping like a deflated wind sock. "Come, Doodle."

"Woof!"

Jaina sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "We may as well make a stop at the bank so I can pull some money out from the savings account. And maybe ask if a couple of the girls would like to, er, come along for the company. Perhaps then I can avoid putting down all those tabs."

"So that's what your generation calls it these days," Sylvanas said softly with a roll of her eyes.

Jaina felt her eyebrows crinkle, couldn't stop the roll of her eyes, but said nothing. Her shoulders slumped and she hung her head. Wracking her brain for ideas as to where the Novas and the Vallas and the Li Lis and the rest of the girls were at today (and if they would _please oh please_ like to cover part of the bill she most certainly would not be able to by herself, _thank you so much, you girls are the best a friend could hope for, unlike a certain SOMEONE I KNOW_ ), she went to catch up to Stitches, Sylvanas and Doodle tagging behind.


	39. Chapter 39

**Title:** (Mis)Communication (Sun's Out, Guns Out 2017 Edition)  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas and Hammer make preparations of getting into the business world."  
 **Notes1:** So the majority of this chapter was done last week, but during that time my little slice of northern Illinois got bombarded with a number of storms that brought record levels of flooding. Dad Phoenix and I have been unable to fish at our usual haunts (but that didn't stop others from going waist-deep in the Fox River, where the current, last I checked, was incredibly strong, and we aren't that brave), so I've taken the past week up to now to type what I could in between heavy downpours and the occasional power outage. My house isn't on the river (I live five minutes, at most, from the local forest preserve, so I'm way up on high ground), but most places around that particular area and further south got slammed hard and are underwater, so barring all that we got lucky.  
 **Notes2:** On a lighter note, I managed to do Timewalking Black Temple on my main and still got to complete it in spite of the two power outages during the Illidan fight. I had to have been in there for about...almost five hours? The last time I was in an instance that long was way back during Cataclysm, when I tanked heroic Grim Batol and people were leaving left and right after wiping so many times on Drahga Shadowburner.  
 **Notes3:** Reviewer flowslikepixelz mentioned that this story should have a TVTropes page. I'd be honored to see it up there with the likes of my other (older and crappier) story, _Oneless_ , a Super Smash Brothers story that got ridiculed on YouTube; I have not seen the video and have no intention to let it bring me down any time soon. The only problem I have is that the Heroes of the Storm page does not have a Fan Works tab. I do remember, at one point, that it did (or something of the sort), and it mentioned the Carbot Animation shorts...but it's Carbot; they have one giant leg-up over me, a piddly writer who tries not to follow the tried and tired fanfic trends of absurdly overpowered characters, harem cliches, and memes. This is certainly not the most popular story, but if you the reader feel it deserves a TVTropes page, then you have my full permission to try and get one up.  
 **Notes4:** Also, flowslikepixels was curious if there were Heroes that were minimally affected by the transition. I can answer it here: The transition is instantaneous the second a person is born or is pulled into the Nexus. It doesn't always manifest right away. It usually takes a couple days at best and seconds at worst, but once it takes root in the person's psyche, that's it - there's no getting rid of it (unless you are a Hero and get sent back to the default sector, and he/she can be stuck there for an hour to up to an unprecedented thousands of years; it really depends on how the Nexus feels). Its affects range from person to person, but it is enough to drive the Nexus into a state of almost perpetual economic struggle (because people can't stop getting into petty squabbles and blowing up shit outside of sanctioned fights that may or may not be related to the Hero League, depending on who's beefing). People that have temporal powers (Tracer, Chromie, Medivh) can be affected regardless if they're mortal or immortal. Even humans enhanced by cybernetics, like Genji, are affected all the same, although it remains to be seen if automatons/semi-auto robots like Probius can fit into this same category. However, outsiders that are on par with Heroes but are barred from participating in the Hero League, like Doodle and Shantae and many others non-Blizzard characters and OCs, are marked and of a different category, but that story - more or less - will not be told here.

* * *

"So, let's go over this one more time," said Hammer, turning briskly on her heel again. With that leg kicked up high in the air, Sylvanas thought she was going to punt someone into the water. But she didn't, and Hammer went about pacing back to where she had started that slow, swaggering goose step. In over-sized, tank-themed flip-flops, no less.

"Alright," Sylvanas harrumphed, and consulted the clipboard. "It needs to be _big_. About…six inches across and…twelve to thirteen inches long."

"Okay."

"It needs to be _thick_. It requires a five-second _warm-up_ period before it's ready to go."

"Okay." Hammer made it to the end, stopped, whirled around, and walked.

"Lubrication for further warmth and… _faster periods of ejaculation_ …can be acquired via manual stimulation."

"Okay."

"However, this can be delayed if one were to adjust his or her rhythm and… _delay it_. By doing so, it will make the projectiles bigger and come out in more powerful waves."

"Okay." Stop, whirl, walk.

"On the other hand, this rhythm needs to have a steady tempo. If it goes too fast, it will overload and… _shoot its load prematurely_. If it goes too slow, it will suffer internal damage and will need to be assessed for treatment."

"Okay." Stop, whirl, walk around, stop, whirl, and come back up front.

"If you time it just right and make the necessary calculations, a single projectile can go as far as…." Sylvanas hummed, undid the latch on her belt, placed the mini-comp on the clipboard, typed in some numbers. She blinked. "One thousand yards," she concluded.

"Okay!" Hammer smacked a fist into an open hand. Her grin was a grin that would put wolves to shame. "That's good. That's real good. Goddamn, Sylvanas, with that much power we'll be making these babies in no time!"

"Hmm. Suppose we have everything we needed to start production. As a rough estimate, how long do you think it'll take to make one that won't turn out defective, break down halfway on the belts, or turned away from investors?"

Hammer tapped a finger to her chin. "Hrrrrrmm…I'd say…give or take…nine months, if the aether storms are far and between. Maybe half that if we bribe 'em or put the fear of the Hole in the Holy Torpedo in 'em. Ain't nothing worse'n having your entire estate made into a crater!"

"What does procreation have to do with threatening people with apocalyptic annihilation?" asked the Spectre Nova, approaching them. Her hair—wilder and darker than her default—was pulled up a high ponytail. She had a two-piece black and brown swimsuit lined in orange; even outside of her suit, she still flaunted her affiliation.

Hammer looked at her—flinched back from her, Sylvanas noted—as though something invisible had suddenly emerged from the poolside. "Procreation? Girl, how the hell did you get _that_ out of mass producing aether-powered water cannons?"

"Water…cannons?" said Nova, and she looked at the wheeled corkboard for the first time. A variety of water guns were tacked onto it, ranging from snub-posed pistols and Tommy guns to semiautomatics and assault-style rifles. Their make was both childishly plastic to tough, reinforced steel that made them appear eerily lifelike…if one were to ignore the subtly glowing battery casings on some of the larger guns, that is.

"Yeah, girl! Didcha really think we'd have used one of these babies to keep the stables running? Look at this one!" Hammer pointed to a long, single-barreled cannon that took up the lower portion of the corkboard. "That thing can shoot a speck of dust and it'll blow a bull into chunks of prime beef! Valla would want to mount my head on a wall! I hate to think what she'd do to you, Sylvanas!"

"She wouldn't, because I'd bludgeon her first and put _her_ head up on the entrance archway for all to see," said the Banshee Queen. "You want a water gun?" she asked the Spectre. "There's a sniper rifle on the other side that's just about your size. Ammo packs are in the storage lockers in the building by the gymnasium. Unless you prefer shooting icepicks, instead; those are in the freezers out back." Her eyes roamed up and down Nova's body, face expressionless. "You look good in that. Better than being in that stuffy suit all day, don't you think?"

The Spectre Nova started and averted her gaze. A high, red color crept up her neck. "Uhh…thanks? I guess?" She scratched one cheek lightly. "I mean, it's a hot day and everyone's breaking out the booze and the fireworks and all that summer stuff. I-It's not like I put this on just to impress you or anything. Every girl needs a good suntan. Y-You never know when you'll need to distract someone on missions!"

Hammer nodded much too buoyantly. "Uh-huh. It's working alright. Never thought Sylvie here was a gorgon on top o' being a banshee. How do you do it, Sylvanas?"

"By getting my bitch game on and making them think I'm going to murder them," she said, matter-of-factly. "It makes their life flash before their eyes. Or, in this case, all the possibilities that could happen with but a single choice, regardless of any prior, questionably moral actions I have, may have, or will have taken in past, present, and future. Somehow, someway, whether or not I mean it, people hale and hearty come flocking for my hand."

"The bitchier the better! People love imagining others in leather pants!"

"But wouldn't it be better to imagine someone in a more revealing outfit?" asked Nova. "N-Not that I'm using myself as an example or anything!" she added hastily. "B-But I think if a person wants to be quickly appealed to someone, showing off more, er, skin, would probably be the way to do it."

" _One_ way," said Sylvanas. "Take into account cultural differences and you will receive a different answer. Sometimes less is more."

"And that's why your fanbase will always be the biggest, girlfriend," said Hammer. "You don't do _nothing_ if it don't fit the Sylvanas Windrunner agenda."

"That's the smartest thing you've said all day. Well done." She clapped her hand and clipboard against one another in sullen, halfhearted beats.

Nova appraised them with a quirk of an eyebrow. "You two really like to go off on random tangents, don't you? One minute it's about water cannons and the next it's diversities of visual attraction and how psychology plays into hero worship and cults of personality."

"Part and parcel of having the transition, honey," said Hammer. "Can't say it feels any different than how I usually am."

"You were born crazy," said Sylvanas.

"Damn tootin'! Why, I may as well be the first person to be immune to the transition! Imagine that!"

"Nah, that's Doodle and the dogs. You know, being reality warpers and all, but it's complicated."

"What about Tracer, Chromie, and Medivh?"

"They don't count. They're exceptions under special circumstances."

"And Malthael?"

Sylvanas scoffed and shrugged. "Who knows? I don't care to know and I don't want to. He won't talk, anyway."

"I want to know how you're going to pitch the idea of mass producing aether-powered water cannons to the public market if they can shoot up to a thousand yards," said the Spectre Nova, silently taking note that, indeed, they went from one topic to another just like that (and not a fuss was made of it, but that was okay). "Shouldn't you be getting in touch with the manufacturer and draw up a protection warranty?"

"'Course we are!" Hammer exclaimed. "But we gotta find someone first, and I ain't about to put my foot through any of the doors at Jeetilopolis if it's the last thing we do! Those bastards will 'remind' you," she put on air quotes, "on the phone to fork over your share of the gold once you put down the loan—every hour on the hour, and that ain't countin' the taxes the government takes out, either. They give ya a deadline, and at first they're pretty 'generous' about it, and that's all fine and dandy. But if ya keep faffin' around and don't pay up?" She raised a fist to her neck and drew her thumb across it, making a guttural, scratching sound in the back of her throat. _Skreet!_

Nova nodded understandingly.

"For now, we're just gonna go around King's Crest and scout out potential constituents. Take a portal or transport ship to Luxoria and do the same thing there. If worse comes t' worse, we'll hit up the boonies, get lucky, and maybe make poor ole Farmer Brown a billionaire. Brand new car, new house with thirty rooms no one will ever use and a big ass backyard that might lead ya up to a lake or river or eldritch tomb that Should Never Be Opened (as forewarned by your ancestor's memoirs), all the booze, women, and fields a man could sow his wild oats on and reap his reward." She snickered at the last part. "Hee. Wild oats."

"That's if you get the idea off the floor first," said Nova. "You have to convince your investors that they will spend their time and resources on it, that it will succeed and make it worth their while."

"Oh, we will," Hammer said, grinning.

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Sylvanas asked, looking askance at her. "You're the one that came up with this silly idea and broke into my house before the crack of dawn just to tell me and make me your unofficial accountant."

"Sylvanas, we're going to be billionaires. We're gonna make a ton of money off this!"

"So will the manufacturer if we get sued for any potential accidents and fatalities it causes and we lose the case. Which, and I mean this totally offensively, will happen, given your track record with explosives and finances."

Hammer clucked her tongue and shook her head. "Y'all always gotta be so negative!"

"Someone needs to be the foil to your hat."

"Your hat's full o' holes an' tatters and water marks! Hats are so supposed to keep your head dry and clean while providin' a nice bowl shape when you take it off and you have an artist doin' portraits of ya to post on the Internet or framed at some fancy-shmancy museum!"

"But even a hat that's full of holes and tatters and water marks is still a decent hat," said the Spectre Nova. "It just requires a bit of stitching and patching and some tender loving—uh…" She grimaced and crossed her arms over her chest. "I mean! It needs a lot of care! CARE! Because if a hat is old but still has a decent shape—to protect your head!—then it can be repaired and still do its job of protection and geometrical conformities just the same. Isn't that right, Sylvanas?"

"Hell if I know." Sylvanas shrugged. "I wear hoods. Caps, too, but not for very long. I don't think hats fit my image."

"We'll make a conformist out of you yet, don't ya worry! Anyway, Nova," said Hammer, turning around from the severe frown the Banshee Queen aimed at her, "ya wanna try one of these bad boys out? We're gonna need a few people to do some trial runs and garner some results so we can get Sylvie here to draw up graphs and pie charts and all that stat-tistical mumbo-jumbo to show to the investors."

"You'll still need your protection warranty. How long are you going to make it good for?"

"Depends. Gotta take into account the size of the water gun, the type, what kind o' batteries it uses if it has any, the material used to make it, that kind o' thing. Somethin' like this one here," and Hammer indicated to the single-barreled water cannon again, "would probably require a warranty up to…what'd we calculate it up to again, Sylvanas?"

Sylvanas inquired the clipboard. "Eighteen to twenty years."

" _Eighteen to twenty years?_ " Nova exclaimed. "People die every day in the Nexus! What good would a warranty that long do? You may as well target the in-betweener demographic; those people are the true definition of immortal!"

Hammer snapped her fingers. "Damn, I didn't think about that! Sylvanas, write that down! We gotta hit up the Underworlds!"

"Fine," she harrumphed and jotted it down, "but I hope you remember what happened the last time we went into one."

"Hey, how was I supposed to know spirits and aether conflict? I was innocent! A dindu-do-nuffin'!"

"By all that is dark and sacrilegious…." Sylvanas grumbled, trying not to sound disbelieving. "You're ignorant, Hammer."

"Eh? Ignorant?"

"That's right. You're ignorant, and your ignorance was the biggest crime of all. Nothing more. There." Sylvanas slid the pen back behind the clip. "We've got all of King's Crest, Luxoria, the third-world realms, and the Underworlds to tackle, with Jeetilopolis as a last resort if all else fails. How does that sound?"

Hammer clapped her hands once, and the sound of them smacking together rang clear and true. "Absolutely outstanding! When d'ya wanna start? Where'dja wanna hit up first, Echo Town?"

"As soon as these test runs yield conclusive results. I'd prefer Jeetilopolis because it's full of gnomes and goblins and ethereals and whatever took root over there; it has a very large, very competitive market that's growing each and every day." Sylvanas sighed, ran a hand through her hair. "But you said you're not interested, so my second option would be…hmm, either Echo City or any of the tourist-driven locales in Luxoria. Maybe New Scuttle Town, Gucchaga, Ani Ani…we could even try Maz'enka."

"Ah, Maz'enka! Where the money never runs dry, snow is nonexistent, a highroller is on ev'ry street corner, and the cliff racers never stop getting their Energizer Bunny on! We should stop there sometime, hit the tables and clear 'em out!"

"Legitimately," Sylvanas deadpanned.

"Whaddya mean, legitimately?"

"She means if you win too much and security footage doesn't prove you're cheating, they'll throw you out," said Nova. "Same goes if you're trying to take advantage, cheat, count cards, the way you set your dice or move your money. It varies depending on which casino—and which region—you're hitting up."

"Goddamn! What a bunch of sticklers! I'm not sure I wanna go there now!"

"They show you the door if you're good, Hammer," said Sylvanas, lazily waving the clipboard up and down, "and you're anything but."

"Hey! Give me a couple packs of cards, some chips, a bowl of guacamole and a big ole stein o' Jet Briggs' Green Label and I'll have your pretty little head spinning more circles than an owl can turn its neck!"

"That's not the kind of thing you want happening to me. The stump of my neck might grow legs and come nipping at your heels like a little dog."

Nova couldn't help but crack a grin at the image. Hammer threw her head back and guffawed. "I can just see it now! Sylvanas, the Headless Banshee! You get a free skillshot and deal damage over time while ya headless form runs around causing friendly fire and confusion among the enemy! Hey, you should let the Board know about it, like ya did with the Mind Control. It'd be the ace up your sleeve!"

"I think I'd prefer to keep my head where it's at, thank you very much."

"I agree," said the Spectre. "She, uh, she'd look better with it on than off—I mean, if it stayed there! That's what I meant!"

Hammer licked her lips. "Man, you must be thirsty."

"But I just had something to drink earlier."

"Oh my God." Hammer cocked a sly look at Sylvanas. "Listen to this girl. She doesn't even know. Ain't that cute?" Sylvanas said nothing. Her face was stony and the grip on the clipboard tight; Nova didn't have to read her mind to know she wanted to bang her head against it.

Nova shrugged. "What's so cute about drinking water?"

Hammer coughed into her first; all she could sense in the woman's thoughts were _Oh that sweet summer child, she really doesn't know! Somebody, and I don't mean me, ought to educate her!_ How strange. "Never you mind, Spectre Nova. Let's try out the water guns. We're at a pool, after all, and if'n anythin' happens—well, at least someone'll get a really nice, really cold shower. Sylvanas, get the stopwatch out and set it. I wanna see how far it goes." She turned to the corkboard and removed the tacks one by one from the cannon.

"That's not heavy for you?" Nova asked.

"Nah, this thing's a lot lighter than it looks," Hammer said, easing it onto the tiled floor. "Zarya could pick up three of these if she wanted ta and not break a sweat. This is thrice-reinforced Nexian cosmere slate melted down all over the Gearfax mining facilities. A lot cheaper to manufacture compared to mimic wood."

Nova leaned across Sylvanas, ignoring the chill the woman gave off. It was pretty big, and she wasn't sure if Hammer's muscles and broad stature made it possible for her to lug the thing so easily, but after dusting off her hands she picked the cannon up by the handle at the top as though it were an empty basket or crate. There was a bulbous casing, shaped something like one of the round magazines found on Tommy guns from Ye Olde Prohibition Era, sticking out of its side and running underneath its chassis like an inflammation. Inside, an energy made a dark, bruised bluish-purple from the crimson shell hummed; every now and then, bolts of lightning spat and crackled soundlessly around a tube (whose shape was very hard to discern) that had to be the battery. "How do you operate it?" she asked.

"Very simple! You gotta warm it up by turnin' this here crank. You can adjust the settings (however you please) if you want it to be Antarctic or, my personal absolute favorite, scalding hot, but we're just gonna go with plain old cold because no one wants to do anythin' warm when the day's warm, too. A shame, really, but hey! I ain't one to judge." Hammer grabbed the crank juxtaposed from the battery and gave it a few, hearty spins. The light in the casing increased tenfold until it became a miniature sun and Nova had to turn away from it. A hum emerged from the cannon's depths as the water pumped and churned in its tubes and turbines, and the sound intensified the more the crank was spun. "'Course, you gotta fill 'er up with water if you want results. You can either put it through this hole here"— she pointed at a bumpy indentation at the top behind the crank—"or down at the bottom. Don't matter where; it'll go into th' chambers all the same.

"Right then, I think she's good to go! I'm-a put the rate of fire on single-shot. You got that stopwatch set up, Sylvie?"

"On your mark," said Sylvanas, holding it up in the air with her hand.

"Outstandin'! Now…where can we fire ya off…? Ah, there we go! Straight across the thoroughfare's the way! Gotta see if she goes as far as we mathematically deduced, eh, Watson?"

"Call me that again and I'll shove a light bulb so far up your ass not even the Original MC will want to touch it."

Hammer made a face. "Now that sounds right painful! Why'd I want an ass-light bulb when I have one in my head? It hurts enough as it is with all this critical thinkin'!"

"Just fire the damn thing. I'm here to record the time, not pose for a Presidential portrait."

Hammer tut-tutted. "So impatient! Nova, you're a Spectre, you have remote viewing, don'tcha?"

"Not exactly. It takes a lot of concentration and detachment from the outside to not be distracted. Only a few soldiers that I know of were able to master it."

"Eh, no biggie. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"And how will we know when it'll land?"

"Oh, you'll see," said Hammer, and winked. The grin on her face pulled the skin around her mouth to stretch as far as it could go. "WATCH OUT! FIRE FROM THE SKY!" she cried suddenly, and suppressed the trigger. The head of the barrel was pointed ahead of them at a forty-five degree angle, so when it coughed up the gout of water the cannon jumped in her arms, rocked and juked and jived so hard Nova thought it was going to fly from her hands and boogie-woogie on out of here and into the unknown. Hammer grunted and buckled her knees, and for a moment it seemed she was about to fall. Except she didn't, and the water bullet shot up in a great, ear-popping _WHOOMPH_ and soared up, up, and away, and everyone in the pool and mingling around it shouted and ducked for cover. It quickly became a speck lost to the sky.

"Whoa!" Nova shouted, and shielded her eyes against the sun. Sylvanas grunted, eyes flicking between the stopwatch and the clear day.

"Yeah, baby! Look at 'im go!" Hammer set the water cannon down and joined Nova. "That's the feelin' mama likes! That right there, ladies, is Terran in-gen-nuity! Goblin grease monkeys ain't got nothin' on that!"

"Don't give Gazlowe another reason to kick out whatever humanoid workers he has left under contract and replace them with advanced automatons to hasten production on his service lines," said Sylvanas. "We want to get a leg up on the latest trending competitions, not inadvertently cause manslaughter."

"Death is only a delay for the disadvantaged! As for the resources…well, they can always recycle. Waste not, want not! Them goblins ain't stupid!"

Sylvanas scoffed but said nothing, averting her gaze toward the sky.

They stayed as they were, watching, waiting. The sounds of horseplay, laughter, people high diving off the board, and the general commotion bubbled around them like broth in many large, very wide cauldrons.

The locusts started up their loud, obnoxious droning, calling to one another.

The Spectre Nova blinked. She looked at Sylvanas, noting the increasing sourness taking precedence, and then looked at Hammer, whose grin slowly dipped into a smile and then into a confused frown. She looked at the sky. "Shouldn't it have landed by now?"

"Yes," Sylvanas said tightly.

"What time do you have on it?"

Sylvanas checked. "Ninety seconds and counting."

"I thought you said this thing was supposed to fire up to one thousand feet!" Nova said to Hammer.

"Well, uh, yeah. It's, uh, it's supposed to." Hammer scratched her head. "Huh. Maybe I cranked it too much—"

An explosion, like a clap of thunder, forced them—and everyone at the pool—to stop and look at the horizon. A mushroom cloud formed and blossomed into a fiery orange flower planted in a field of ash. The air took on a hazy, electrified quality; it tasted acrid, sulfuric, with a faint, underlying taste of boiling water.

Hammer stared at the unfolding formation with a slack-jawed, wide-eyed awe. "Wow…I'd paid to see what that crater looks like!"

"Hammer," Nova began cautiously, "this is a water cannon…right? It has to be."

"It better be," Sylvanas warned.

"Uh-uh-uh!" Hammer put up a hand. "This ain't just a water cannon, girl. It's a _Hammer Cannon_. One-hunner-percent cosmere, all heart, plenty of boom, no fallout! If there ain't any of it, you getcha money back, guaranteed!"

"I think there's going to be plenty of it in a few seconds! What'd you put in there, uranium?"

Hammer placed her arms akimbo. "Hon, this thing's powered by the aether. The _aether_. You know, that stuff that supposedly everyone's born with, keeps ev'rythin' afloat and all that esoteric hoopla! These babies need that extra kick!"

"I don't recall it being that volatile!"

"Not if it's in a controlled environment, but that's why any product you buy that uses aether as an energy source is so expensive. If you were to add anything else to it, like a liquid or a solid, the aether will assimilate it and adapt its properties." Sylvanas added, putting away the stopwatch. "Although knowing her, Hammer put in a gallon or a dozen of her 'super secret special' fuel that's solely and preferably reserved for Hero League matches. Am I right?"

"Now why in tarnation would I do that? Puttin' the whole thing in there with the aether will turn this whole place and the surroundin' area into Ground Zero!"

"But you did, didn't you?" Sylvanas let the stopwatch fall to her breast, gripped the clipboard in both hands, and leaned forward. Her eyes were two burning embers. "Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't mix your fuel with the aether."

Hammer shook her head fiercely. "Not at all!" She fidgeted. "Maybe a little," she amended. She broke out in a sweat. "Okay, maybe about a quart or so." She wrung her hands. "About a gallon." She sighed explosively. "I just wanted ta beat the competition, is all! I-It's not like aether takes on _every_ chemical property, you know that! We'd never break bank if we followed the crowd! _ARGH!_ " Her helmet rang with a dull, metal clap.

Sylvanas lowered the clipboard and stared hard at Hammer rubbing her head. There was a vertical line forming between her brow, and it stood out so prominently, like an exclamation point, that the skin around it had begun to crack. "Hammer…you know you're an idiot when I say _Nova_ is smarter than you."

"Does that mean our partnership's over?" Hammer asked, wounded. "'Cause I'm, like, kinda…maybe…sorta…okay, I'm really bad at non-tank trajectory."

Sylvanas opened her mouth to answer, but the loud, booming voice with the demonic undertone overrode her and brought all activity at the pool to a standstill. "WHO HIT ME?! _WHAT_ HIT ME? _UGH!_ BY THE LIGHT OF HEAVEN, I'M SO COLD! _MY WHOLE BACK IS PEELING OFF!_ "

All the color drained from Nova's face. "Oh dear God, you just hit Diablo."

" _Archangel_ Diablo, for that matter," said Hammer.

"I'm going to get blamed for this, aren't I?" Sylvanas asked wearily.

"I DO NOT CARE WHO YOU ARE. I DO NOT CARE WHERE YOU ARE. BUT HEAVEN, HELL, AND SPACES HELP AND HIDE YOU, FOR I WILL FIND YOU. _AND I. WILL. MAKE. YOU. BURN!_ _RAAAAAAAAAGH!_ "

Now the air became humid, stifling, and the electric charge replaced with a smoky, acrid haze. Something shifted beneath Nova's feet, a sensation of the earth being misplaced, and for one wild moment she thought it was an earthquake. But earthquakes didn't emit blue light, she remembered when she looked down—nor did they display sigils of in an ancient language she couldn't make heads of.

The smell of cooked flesh and hot tile on her bare feet made her jump, both from the suddenness of pain and impending doom.

"Holy hamburger helper!" Hammer yelled. She was barely audible above the din of frightened, angry patrons climbing out of the pool and making a beeline for higher ground.

Sylvanas whirled around, snatched Nova by the wrist, and hauled her away in a breakneck run just as the world was engulfed in a blue inferno.


	40. Chapter 40

**Title:** New Job  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas picks up the Butcher at his new job - as a deli clerk."  
 **Notes1:** Although this particular chapter was inspired by my experience at orientation following the new job as a Jewel-Osco deli clerk (you'll only find it in the Midwest), all those conversations are fictitious and, obviously, never happened. Although crazier things have happened in my household, considering I've had to break up arguments between my parents over how to spell 'macaroni', the way toast comes out of the toaster, the cat having free roam over the whole house, and the sudden existence of Dad Phoenix including the softball (which he named Wilson) as a family member. This is normal behavior, by the way, so to some degree _First Impressions_ is also inspired by some of the insanity that goes on here (mostly through Dad Phoenix).  
 **Notes2:** Songs, too, are what gives some of these chapters a foundation to stand on. I usually walk around waiting for my ride, as it's twenty minutes away from where I live, and on the first week at the new job I heard Ricky Martin's 'Livin' La Vida Loca' playing over the speakers. I thought, 'Man, this'd sound pretty ridiculous if I put this in a chapter' or something of the like. Sometimes, like with the Unexpected chapters, they even come from Grand Theft Auto, but just about anything I hear is out of a matter of preference than following the latest, trendy music (I go against the grain!).  
 **Notes3:** My apologies, flowslikepixelz, for not elaborating on the term 'default sector': it's a phrase I use in my original, non-fanfic (and offline) writings that mean where a person is originally from (where dimensions/universes are concerned). For example, since Banshee Queen!Sylvanas is the first of many Sylvanases to come through the Nexus and the first to (read: forced to) sign up for the Hero League, she would be considered the default Sylvanas. I always likened Ranger-General!Sylvanas to be from a universe that may or may not (but most likely did) avoid the Third War and, thus, her death and reanimation.  
 **Notes4:** Some quick bits to answer your things: 1) You - and anyone else - can suggest prompts so long as characters do not overtake the story's premise, i.e. this fanfic is about SYLVANAS, not BRIGHTWING; I don't want another Lucario fiasco, but I already added the DDR battle prompt to the dump doc. 2) The 'leather pants' remark is a jab at the Draco In Leather Pants trope. 3) I laughed so hard at #NovaNeedsADrink that I'm going to use it as part of a horse-racing/animal-racing prompt in the future. 4) Only Classic!Nova is loony and has the childlike innocence due to past events in _How Does That Even Work?_. I like to think Spectre!Nova didn't go all the way with Tosh at the time of her being pulled into the Nexus and Sylvanas just so happens, through tropes and her own (if unavoidable) sex appeal, to cuckold him across space and time. I'm not really one for NTR, but that's how I see it and it'd be hilarious if he does end up in HotS. The idea that all the Novas, and all the girls Sylvanas gets in contact with, is pretty much a tongue-in-cheek thing in regards to how authors pair Sylvanas with original female characters, hence why she makes comments about people falling head over heels for her regardless of the morally questionable things she's done.  
 **Notes5:** Last but not least, to cut the notes a little short, I have considered other spinoffs for this fic, HDTEW notwithstanding. I don't want to make these things too long, but I have some ideas in mind I'm going to put up a poll later so you guys and gals can decide what interests you and want to see me write the most. I know for sure that I'll be doing a couple stories set some thousands of years after _First Impressions_ through the eyes of a Riftwalker (you may remember seeing this word from several chapters back), but everything else will be determined depending on how many votes (or PMs, those count, too) the choices get. Of course, even if I don't get any - and it's very possible - I'll still do them, anyway, but that's a last resort.

* * *

"Nova, turn that music down. I can't concentrate!" said Sylvanas, her focus on the cell phone wavering.

"But it's 'La Bamba'!" the girl said from the passenger seat. "You hardly hear this on the waves anymore!"

"Nova," said Kerrigan from the back, "this is 'Livin' La Vida Loca' by Ricky Martin."

Nova blinked owlishly. "Oh…W-Well!" she rebounded. "I thought Ricky Martin sang 'La Bamba'!"

"That's Ritchie Valens!"

"You mean that guy who died in the plane crash?"

"Yes, that guy!"

"OOOOOOH!"

"I'm-a 'La Bamba' both of you out of the truck with my foot up your ass if you don't PIPE DOWN this instant!" Sylvanas sniped. "I have to let the Butcher know we're here."

Nova grumbled. "Okaaaay~" She turned the dial, and Ricky Martin's svelte voice about living the crazy life became a little more bearable for Sylvanas's delicate elven ears. "I'll just download it off the net, anyway," she added under her breath, and leaned back in the seat to watch the traffic come and go. Kerrigan just shrugged, nonplussed, studying the people coming and going from the parking lot.

Jarimander and Orland was a market that had been in business for millennia, long, long before their competitor, Hub-Mart, sprang up across the Nexus. Supposedly (as the story goes, according to the locals of the Weald) Jarimander and Orland got into some major spat over this piece of concrete-paved land of cars, trucks, colorful horses and ponies, life-sized exosuits, farting Wonder billies, and anthropomorphic clouds, vying to outbid the other in a bidding war that went on for, quite the opposite, a very, very short time. Red tape and legal battles there were not, but (again, according to locals and in-betweeners who claimed to have been present) a hodgepodge council of literary colleagues, bankers and financial investors, shaman mediums and excavators, and an octopus in a tank had been called in to write up the pros and cons of having two separate businesses, who and what would make more money depending on the needs of the people, the advantages and disadvantages of constructing buildings on what may or may not be hallowed ground, and who would win in the King's Crest Dimensional Rugby Bowl during an aether storm. (History states that the octopus was undecided and, out of frustration and general consensus, was launched into the Spaces when not a single person could decipher the ink blots it made in its tank. The blots, however, were preserved and kept locked behind thrice-reinforced glass at the museum to be studied and translated. Meanwhile, legend has it that the octopus could still be seen to this day, having either catching the gravitational orbit of some far-and-by satellite to dictate the path of wayward meteorites or becoming a constellation, the Eight-Legged Daydreamer.)

It had been a very short time, see—about twenty minutes, full of shouting, ink-stained tables and broken chalk, and fisticuffs, until someone—no one knows if it was a literary colleague or banker or financial investor or shaman medium or excavator or even Jarimander or Orland (it certainly wasn't the octopus, but it seemed to have gained memetic status and the nickname Winky in recent years)—stopped what he or she was doing and posed the most important question of all: "Why not just combine Jarimander's supermarket and Orland's clinic into a supermarket-clinic?"

And so, seven millennia and four thousand near post-apocalyptic disasters later, here they were, on the Jarimander side of the parking lot, Ricky Martin's voice causing the subwoofers in the stereo and the leather interior of the truck to vibrate. It was enough to drown the mechanical trundle of shopping carts being pushed through the plastic-covered shaft adjacent to the entrance.

Sylvanas perked up from her stupor at the sound the phone made. She read the message. "Butch is coming out," she said, and sat up. She unlocked the steering wheel, turned the ignition, and moved the stick shift into drive. She drove the truck past the cart corral up front, went up to the grassy edge where a row of dead-looking trees and thin shrubbery stood, and made a left to go around.

"You know, I can suspend my disbelief on just about anything," Kerrigan began, "but I'll be the first to admit that I still have a hard time seeing an elf ride anything that isn't an animal."

"My world's full of schizophrenic technology," said Sylvanas. "We just happen to have the pleasure of sabotaging each other so much we can't make our own spaceships."

"What about the Exodar?" asked Nova.

"Che! That thing's supposedly been repaired and ready to go since the Cataclysm. Maybe when the Legion finally rips Azeroth a new one, they'll finally do something about it. They have this habit of dicking around Azuremyst and Bloodmyst Isles, stagnating and doing nothing of the sort. Same with the Sindo'rei; I hear they still have those fel crystals Kael'thas so kindly installed all over Silvermoon all those years ago, and yes, he did put them there, don't let him tell you otherwise!"

"Didn't you say once that your Regent-Lord removed them once Kael'thas came back as a demon and died a second time?" Kerrigan asked.

"He said he was going to, but they're still there! I don't know what they're waiting. Infrastructure aren't done in one day, but it's been years since that blowhard died and, if my legitimately-assured Warchief counterpart is anything to go by, surprisingly hasn't reformed in the Nether."

"Woman, do you want him to be the kind of nuisance that'll repeat the same thing over and over just to get his kicks seeing your reaction?"

Sylvanas's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "On second thought, he can stay dead for all I care. He has no one to blame but himself for becoming a joke."

"What about the genius creation gods that led to the idea of his conception and eventual birth?" Nova asked.

"Them, too. They pandered that little brain of his and now he's living the rockstar celebrity lifestyle. Talk about bullcrap. Whatever so-called memes I've conjured during my time here in the Nexus must surely sound a helluva lot better than that garbage he loves to spew. At least people have the balls to love me and remember not to sweep all my war crimes under the rug! Every topic they have on their internet forums eventually devolves into a cesspit of crack ship pairings, vehemence towards the rise of human bias, and who owns Lordaeron even though I've very clearly stated, several times, that it's in the hands of the Forsaken, but nope—people don't listen! People are stupid, and they use their forums as an echo chamber that either goes unheard or gets shilled so hard that they scream even more because it wasn't what they wanted."

"Is that why you're the way you are?"

Sylvanas shrugged a shoulder. "Meh, one of the reasons. I just hate everyone equally."

"I'm still top dog, though."

"I guess. Just don't say it in front of Doodle and the Pack; they, uh, they hit hard when they wrestle." Sylvanas absently touched her ribs where, not two years ago, they had risen from the snow puffs and jumped on her, armor and all.

"Hey, people do the same to me all the time," said Kerrigan. "I'm proud to be a bitch. The Bitch, mind you. I have as much of a reputation to uphold as you do…or did." She smirked. "Heart's getting ten sizes too big for that bust. Maybe you should ask Tyrande for some assist—"

"No," said Sylvanas, reached over the seat divider and unlocked the passenger door Kerrigan was not occupying. Returning, she honked the horn once, causing a flock of seagulls dawdling by the truck to squawk and scatter.

The Butcher looked up at the sound and bared his teeth in a…well, it wasn't quite a grin or a smile; with a mouth like that, rotted, yellowed, and with scars over his lips, it would always look like a maybe-it-is-maybe-it-isn't kind of smile. "Nyarr!" he said, and entered the truck once Kerrigan opened the door.

"Hey, man, how'd orientation goes?" Nova asked.

"Yarr! Rarrr-graw!" said the Butcher, gesticulating.

"Wait, just you?"

"Rar!" He nodded.

"You mean to tell us that you were the only new hire they had in the deli department?" Kerrigan asked, pressed up against the window. "And they were excited to have you, a notorious serial killer and cannibal, on board?"

"Nyaar!"

"What a small world!"

"When do you start?" Sylvanas asked.

"Grrrrr! Rawr-yeeeert-gaw!"

"Two weeks? Oh, that's plenty of time for you to get ready…and to stay out of trouble."

The Butcher gave her a grotesque grin and chuckled.

"No, really, you gotta at least keep your business within the Hero League. I know the Nexus is desperate and woefully incompetent, but they don't just take convicts and drug users off the streets, give them a cleaver, and say 'hey, go slice us some meat, and by 'meat' we mean animals, not humanoids and anthros.'"

"Nyagh? Gree-roaaa-ra, mrrro-argh!"

"Dude, you're always going off hunting or pillaging places for breathing on you the wrong way or you taking something out of context," said Nova. "At least this way you'll get to channel your aggression and manliness through chopping and slicing the hell out of meat and cheese without legal consequences. You get to refine your passions so you can kill people more painfully and efficiently!"

The Butcher growled, tapping a thick finger ponderously against a pockmarked scar. "Nyaaar? Rawr! Rooo-gyaar!"

"But remember," said Kerrigan, "you'll have to serve customers side dishes, too, and most of those include vegetables."

His head whipped toward her, eyes wide and frightful. "VE-GE-TA-BULS? EEEYUK!"

"It's part of the job, man. People want something else to go with their meat. You're gonna get your carnivores and obligates, your herbivores, eipscotarians, and omnivores. You gotta distribute a little bit of everything if you want to make money for the company."

The Butcher stared down at his hands folded in his laps, grumbling. Then, pausing, he looked back up, asking, "Vrooo-geh? Nyaar-geh?"

Nova and Kerrigan recoiled away from him, throwing up their hands defensively. "Not that kind of vore!" Nova cried. "Nooooo-ho-ho!"

"Why would you even think that?" Kerrigan asked. "Go to the Shadowlands if you want that kind of meat! J&O is a family-friendly market, not a fetish fuel station!"

"Gyeh!" The Butcher snapped his fingers in defeat.

"I'm just going to pretend I didn't just hear that on top of those kinds of people existing," said Sylvanas, and turned onto the highway when traffic had passed. "Fruitless as that may be," she mumbled under her breath. "Still," she added aloud, "you'll learn to deal with it. You're already a natural at, well, butchering and eviscerating at a precisely anatomical level. Just…imagine these vegetables to be the enemy team or something. Like…Valla. She has all that 'meat' in the stables. You just need to get out of the way."

"Gyaar-eh?"

"Every beast but Doodle. Even if I let you, and I won't, you'd never catch him. He's too fast for you, just like the rest of the Pack."

"Nyaar!"

"Oh, you _could_ try, but you won't. I'll be right there, waiting for you." Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at him through the rearview mirror, challenging him. The Butcher chuffed and rolled his own beady, yellow eyes. "No, but seriously, go to the stables or butcher's block or somewhere to hone your skill while they get your schedule ready and put your name into the system."

"Don't forget the bank! He needs direct deposit!" said Nova.

"Gyaah!" said the Butcher, shaking the folder stuffed with documents he had in one hand.

"On top of butchering refinement, he's going to need to practice his penmanship," said Kerrigan. "No offense, man, but it looks like ass."

"NO!" The Butcher exclaimed.

"More ass than Illidan's face?" said Nova.

"Way more ass. Your penmanship is ass with a capital A."

"LIAR!" he refuted, but his words, which were always garbled, sounded like _RAI-AH!_

"I'm just saying it needs a little more work."

"She means way more work," Nova added.

Kerrigan scowled. "You're not _helping_."

"We'll work on that, too," said Sylvanas, applying more pressure on the gas pedal. Vehicles, beasts, and magic carpets flew by on the opposite lane. "It'll take time, anyway. We don't need to rush."

"Yaaaargh!" said the Butcher, nodding agreement.

"So it's settled: we improve his writing and he gets to practice slaughtering us more efficiently than Morales doing life-saving surgeries on the fly. Deal?"

Kerrigan shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

"I can't wait to become giblets!" said Nova, then blushed. "A-As long as it's Sylvanas assisting you, that is."

"Nyaar-geeh-graa, raar-murr-yeearrt." The Butcher turned his palms up in a maybe _-si, maybe-no_ gesture.

Sylvanas snorted. "Don't get me going, Nova. I have my limits, too." Her ears quivered, catching the sound of Kerrigan reclining in the back and muttering, quite so smugly, "Big heart, tiny bust, big heart, tiny bust"—almost like a chant. She imagined the Bitch Queen as a little, snotty brat, and herself reaching over to belt her over the head several times while she got scratched by her tiny, spiky wings and, hell if she knows, a puppy-sized version of Torra latched to her head with his teeth. It put her at ease, and she slowed to a stop at the red light (instead of slamming on the brakes just to hear Kerrigan's head slam against the back of the seat) and put on the turn signal. Generosity bites, sometimes.

They sat in silence, waiting for traffic to pass and the light to change.

"Hey, I just thought of something," said Nova.

"What's that?"

"How do we even understand what the Butcher's saying, anyway? Is it the—"

"Transition," said Kerrigan and Sylvanas simultaneously.

"R-Really? You mean, we don't need to get universal language translators or some sci-fi gadget that's in the six-figure price range to decipher a few grunts and growls into full-on rants and conversations about, I dunno, anything that may or may not be related to the topic that is being discussed?"

"I mean, you _could_. It's not guaranteed a person will be granted full knowledge of, er, 'demonese', but…well, why would you want to when you have—"

"The transition," Sylvanas finished for Kerrigan. "That's all there is to it."

"Nyaar!" said the Bucher.

"What they said."

"Huh. I, uh, guess that works. Boy, are we lucky." Nova made to sit back, then paused. "You mind if I turn the radio on?"

"Go ahead," said Sylvanas, and made the turn.

Nova turned on the radio.

 _"Para bailar La Bamba  
_ _Para bailar La Bamba  
_ _Se necesita una poca de gracia  
_ _Una poca de gracia  
_ _Para mi, para ti, ay arriba, ay arriba  
_ _Ay, arriba arriba,  
_ _Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere!"_

Nova cackled and clapped her hands. "Speaking of lotteries…jackpot! CHA-CHING!"

Kerrigan banged her head softly against the window. "Oh dear god," she said, not quite groaning and yet not quite unfazed.

"I need a nap," said Sylvanas, suddenly tired. She tapped her fingers on the wheel.

"Gyaah!" said the Butcher, and flopped back against the seat to relax.


	41. Chapter 41

**Title:** A Voice of Reason and Platitude  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas broods."  
 **Notes1:** Work has kept me busy, on top of the three chapters of the Naruto/Tales of Berseria fanfic I churned out over the course of a month (and those chapters are going to stay that large, as far as I know and care) and the Trinity Seven drabble I put out (I mostly regret watching it, and as hopeful as I'd like to be, I doubt the manga is any better). I'll probably work on a Dragon Age one-shot after this while I outline _Heart of Fire, Soul of Calamity_ on the side next to my NaNoWriMo project (a sci-fi fantasy piece that I _hope_ comes off as original - or, at least, as original as "original" gets nowadays).  
 **Notes2:** Funnily enough, my muse wanted to tack on a connection to _How Does That Even Work?_ (I haven't forgotten it, I swear! Half the new chapter's even written out) and ignore the prompt I blatantly put up on the prompt dump doc - "Syvlanas watches Sonya train newly-transitioned minions and wonders what it'd be like to raise her as a Forsaken carrying the transition." In the end, it became a chapter about the transition and building on the thread of Sylvanas's character development that gets fleshed out in HWDTE.  
 **Notes3:** I'm going to leave the poll up for the spin-off for at least this week before I close it (mainly because this week will be long shifts). If the tie isn't broken by then, I'll open up another poll that will decide what will be on the table.  
 **Notes4:** There's one particular question I've been meaning to ask my readers: What is something you want to see more of in this story? What characters, Heroes or OCs, do you want to see my interpretation of? What settings do you want to see (other than King's Crest)?

* * *

Sylvanas brooded.

It was a very Sylvanas-like thing to do. She didn't do it as much when she was alive (and when she did, more often not she always asked herself why Alleria was such a goofball, why couldn't she be the older sister instead when they were the ones that were supposed to have all their marbles together?), and to her surprise she realized somewhere along the way—probably between Tirion striking Arthas down with Ashbringer and her jumping off Icecrown Citadel—she hardly brooded in undeath. When she did brood, it was mostly about trying to find ways for the Forsaken to thrive and increase their numbers when, for obvious reasons, they could not; sometimes it was about Garrosh being a meathead when he started to display his more fascist leanings (and how hypocritical it was now, when he condemned his soldiers for delving into the demonic artes but had no problem whatsoever with eating the heart of an Old God and sprouting tentacles). Sometimes it was about Varian, her mind always turning back to the day the Siege on Orgrimmar had ended and she had overheard him telling Mishka and Armi that he would have to keep her in line in case she tried to do something that would set Genn Greymane off even more ( _I could so much as flick his nose with the ole 'what's that on your shirt' and he'll tear my head off my shoulders_ ).

In the past week and a half since she had entered the Nexus, tried to will herself out of this immortal plane of existence, went on the run with that odd girl, Nova, and a stolen gryphon named Swiftwing, and got strong-armed into joining the Hero League on the grounds that she would sit in the Starless Depths for eternity ( _"And we'll keep you there forever, princess, Powers be damned,"_ the Knight had said, bringing his faceless mask to hers in that abhorrent display of masculine dominance. _"We have ways to stop 'em from calling you back."_ ), Sylvanas brooded about her place in the realm.

Or rather, what she had been forced to be made into: an errand girl for the Board and its families, because it was common knowledge ("The worst kept secret, but it's not like they care we think that way," the more sensible folk had said) they winged their economics half the time and found more pleasure in addictions and luxuries no one could afford unless they were bought through a pawn shop, bargained in backdoor alleys, or hauled out of landfill dumps…barring the possibility of getting shot by automatons, mauled by exotic guard beasts, electrocuted by the powered fences, and getting arrested by the few police officers that patrolled the area. They needed someone to keep on a leash: long enough for her to go somewhere they wouldn't think to tread lest they soil their expensive shoes and pinstripe suits, but short enough to keep an eye on her and to remind her of where she sat on the Nexian social ladder.

Her! The Banshee Queen!

It was like being stripped of her rank and being to demoted to orc peon…and Sylvanas Windrunner _didn't do demotions._

 _Except you're doing it right now,_ said that rational, pragmatic voice she fell back on, when she plotted strategies and considered the future of the Forsaken; but now it was rebellious, it annoyed her, and Sylvanas drew her knees closer to her chest. Like a petulant little girl.

 _Goddammit._

Goddammit, indeed. She had the free bank account and a decent sum of one thousand gold ( _Yes, that's really going to be enough to pay the bills with how high inflation is; bravo, G-Man_ ), but the Nexus had experienced an influx of newcomers ( _Yeah right, they're probably all economic migrants; these so-called gods have to maintain their pathetic status quo_ ) and assigned them all the 'pre-packaged housing' (plus the basic government benefits until they were able to get on their feet) because they hadn't expected Sylvanas to give them the one-finger salute and take off like that. Not like it mattered to the Board—they had enough problems dealing with troublemakers and transitioned folk that just weren't being cooperative—but Executive Charleston, one of the least affected members, managed to get her into the Sturmhause, a late Gothic manor set on the outskirts of the Shire where very little vehicular traffic crossed that way. Almost all the Heroes were located there ("The human ones, that is," said the Executive, "as well as the anthropomorphs that are willing to abide."), although some of the more evil Heroes decided to turn up their noses at the offer and struck northwest into the local Shadowskirt, kicking out the majority of the cult worshipers that had squatted there for centuries, aspiring to reach the Darkness via ritualistic sacrifice, bloodbound magic, paper planes, and Ye Olde Dial-Up (to no avail; those were _so last millennium_ ). Their landlord was a guy named Hendrick who was pushing into his middle age and claimed he was once a Realm Knight ("Where are your credentials?" Sylvanas had asked, hand out, to which the man's neck flushed a radish red and responded with "They're there! But, you know, everything's under lock 'n' key at HQ; I can't just simply ask for it and have 'em handed to me. They have very strict protocols!"), but all he ever did was come around every two weeks to remind them of the payment they had to pitch in and deliver to the office due to the gross lease they had signed upon settling in. That, and from the stories she had heard from the other Heroes boarded there, he always, always made certain to let them know they shouldn't get so rowdy, because this place was _old_ , very _old_ , not as old as an angel like Tyrael but older than the nice elf with the owl ("And…other…things," he mumbled, and glanced shyly at the basket of melons Jaina had put on the counter after coming back from grocery shopping) and the mean elf who already had several felonies on her record and reeked of dead animal ("Good thing we're in the middle of nowhere and among folk who deal with this kind of thing. Otherwise, you'd be out on the streets searchin' for the nearest Underworld!"). Just a simple misuse of power could blow this place to Kingdom Come, Shangri-La, Shamalamadingdong, for all she knew, so they had best take extra care with how they sparred and trained and meditated their otherworldly I-Ching.

Sylvanas didn't care what happened to the Sturmhause. She didn't care what happened to the Heroes there, and she didn't care about the landlord and his unrequited crush for a woman whose breasts were going to one day, inexplicably, pop out of that blouse if she didn't buy a bigger size soon. She didn't care for the Board and its hedonism, its people and their seesawing dualism between lunacy and their pathetic attempt at common sense and decency. They could try to be nice, but Sylvanas didn't care.

She didn't care, and that was a very, very Sylvanas-like thing for her to do. Why, she could even go to some backwood hick country like—what was that place out west called again? Oh right, the Wend—and espouse to them her philosophy. The rules would be simple: Don't care for anyone else but yourself unless it's a means to an end. Piss on the government because they don't owe anything to you (and never will). Become the master of your life, someone else's life, and everyone else's. Take advantage of the transition so that you can live a life of luxury that fits your personality and beliefs. Be the Sylvanas that exists in you, but never become the Sylvanas that is not Sylvanas. Only Sylvanas could call herself Sylvanas, for she is Sylvanas-Supreme. She would call it the Sylvanas Windrunner Prerogative, and maybe if she started like right now it would spread like wildfire and become a new religion: Sylvanasism. And then they would make a church to spread her teachings: the Church of Sylvanas. Sure, she didn't have the val'kyr to grant her the power of reanimation, but it was pointless here. Through her they would become the Forsaken of the Nexus, the rebellious conservatives to the anarchic libertines, the shepherds to the sheep. Sylvanasism!

 _No. Stop it. That's retarded,_ said the pragmatic voice again.

 _No, you stop it. You're retarded,_ Sylvanas thought, simmering. _It could work._

 _Dumbass. You already have a bunch of willful followers serving you hand and foot back on Azeroth. Do you WANT a group that can't see past its own hand in broad daylight?_

 _I can teach them._

 _You want to teach approximately three hundred trillion Novas—in King's Crest alone, I should add—how to act in public and do their tax forms properly, without some form of medication? Are you insane?_

 _According to adventurers in both the Alliance and the Horde, I've lost more than my fair share and have become some sort of Lich Queen. If I'm as insane as the average peabody in the Nexus, then my chances would be worth the risk, no?_

 _Don't be ridiculous. They would leave you drained of resources and open to vulnerability, be it internal strife or all-out war, and then you'll either really die or the Alliance and the Horde will assimilate the masses._

 _Or get overrun and the world ends with not the Legion but an extreme case of the looney tunes._

 _EXACTLY! Besides, how would you even handle the transition? Everyone has it._

 _Yes,_ Sylvanas thought, and she drew her knees up her chest as much as she could. _Even me._ Why couldn't it have left her alone? Why did it have to affect everyone, their dog, and their grandmother? Why did it seem like the Powers That Be were the only entities in the multiverse (omniverse? Hell if she knew) that acted normal? Did normal even exist anymore?

 _No,_ said the pragmatic voice. _Because normal has never existed in the first place._

She hummed angrily and picked her head up. Over the hill and yonder, soldiers in steel armor and colored pennants were arrayed in six rows of seven. They had their shields drawn in one hand and their weapon of choice—a sword, an axe, a mace—in the other, and at the command of the woman strolling at the front they swung and cut through the air: high, medium, low, pirouette, jab, over, under. Some moved with a more stilted gait, as though they could quite capture the movements as fluidly as their fellows. She recalled, very reluctantly, from the tour Thrall had given her that these kinds of soldiers were automatons manufactured and mass produced by the Houses, which were leased to the Board and government regulated businesses that required heavy manual labor and frontline expeditions into the Shadowskirts. Sometimes they were purchased by the less powerful barons that either had a connection to a House dynasty or were more than well-off in life and had the money to spare (and, apparently, there was a lot of bank to make or break—"literally," Thrall had added—in the barely tamed inner city districts of Jeetilopolis). With them they would strike a deal with the Board so they could enter the arena, to earn prestige in the eyes of a House or wanted to flaunt their company's representation on interdimensional cable network and internet streaming services.

 _Who could tell the difference, with all that armor on and those pennants in the way? You'd need to be blind or nearsighted to know who's flesh and who's not._ Those that were human—or anthro or alien—and not tied to the noblesse applied at job fairs (from various realms) and, after passing a series of physical and mental tests, were handpicked by the Board to work at minimum wage (an even five gald, once union dues and taxes were accounted for), and their main job, outside of running drills from their sergeant or an assigned Hero, was to maintain construction on new forts and keeps, install the defense mechanisms based off each worldly dimension or default sector (the point of a Hero's origin, the true version of a person before the variations followed close behind upon summoning), and the production of catapults varying from ballistae to single-shot cannons of either divine design or technological advancement. For a sum—and that depended on the family and their social status—could pledge their service to a figurehead and fly their banners freely, regardless if they were made from the finest cloth to the flimsiest burlap. Their secondary job was to push the two-to-three lane arenas and inflict as much damage as they could with their meager weapons before being mowed down by an enemy Hero or taking the shots the cannon towers wasted on them. It was only after the first keep was destroyed that they could use the catapults and press onward, buying time while the competing teams fought for their objective (and may or may not be empowered by Zerg strain or whipped to haul ass by a general of Hell and his lieutenants). Out on the battlefields, they respawned faster, not in the Hall of Storms but given back shape and form by the core that was, to use a word, blessed by the Powers for as long as it was up, and there they would continue the march—dying over and over again—until the game was won.

 _It must suck to be them, knowing they're way out of their league._

 _But at least they're getting paid,_ said the pragmatic voice. _Pain hurts, but at least not staying dead is a big plus._

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. _Gee, I didn't know. Thanks for enlightening me, Captain Obvious!_

 _Oh, you're most welcome. But think for a moment…what you can do with the transition. Just think of what you can do…if you can master it._

 _Master it?_

 _Well, barring the immediate descent into lunacy, just imagine how much more powerful the Forsaken would be if they were immortal. Think of how much terror you can sow by surprising your enemies…and your allies. They can try to break you, but they could never destroy you._

Yes…that sounded like a wonderful idea. The transition granted resurrective immortality and slowed the aging process to a near standstill, allowing all things—everything—touched by it to progress through life more slowly than a sloth (not that anyone noticed the difference, and some scientists and think-tanks were debating as to whether the classification to 'agelessness' should be changed after more studying). In her mad rush to escape the Nexus she had read the texts in the library, and…well, no one knew where it came from nor when. There were claims and sources citing from everyone under the social, economical and political spectrum across all realms, from the most humble (as humble as they could be) peasant to the most hedonistic king (as hedonistic as law dictated...and laws, for the most part, could never hold much water under the cloak of insanity), but each story varied so wildly that she wondered if it was possible to suspend her disbelief. Who even cared to discover its origins other than the Association of Varied Histories, Timelines, and Universes and the Nexus History Museum? Everyone was affected (or would that be infected?), couldn't stay dead for long, and as a result caused an increase of bizarre, psychotic, and sociopathic behavior, although nature was kind enough to let some wildlife go to that big barnyard in the sky and provide so no one starved.

 _It's not like the Forsaken need to eat, anyway. We don't even really sleep. Everything we do is just pantomiming._

 _If it's possible to get the transition under control, you can pantomime even death. Wouldn't that be something?_

 _That would indeed be something. But say I go through with this; where would I even start? It's not something you can just put in a box and take it home. It would be like catching lightning in a bottle._ And bottled lightning was cheap in novelty thrift stores; the only thing that could surpass it and the majority of the latest technological trends on the market was bottled aether lightning, and nothing short of going into the eye of the storm and spitting death in the eye would make a person think twice of attempting the impossible.

 _Well, say if you could force one of those Erewhon Gates to open. Say you had the ability to bypass all security and jumpstart one. Let's say you do that and…take that Hero down there, for example._

Sylvanas peered over her knees at the muscular redhead marching back and forth among the ranks. Her square, chiseled face and body were tattooed and raked with scars old and new, but there was power in those muscles, power that flexed and rippled underneath as she walked. Her massive pauldrons caught the sun, but from this high up and far away she could not tell how worn for wear they were (but perhaps that was how she preferred them). There was a pair of large, silver-blue blades strapped to her broad, strong back.

This was a warrior, forged and made by trial and pain. This was someone who could punch your teeth out, flay the skin from your skull to pad the drums of war, polish your eyeballs and hang them up as part of an abacus, and hollow it out to make into a stein to be raised and quaffed at the halls of Valhalla. This was someone who would drain the blood and remove the bones from the body to store away in some DIY Viking-style freezer they would open again if they ever wanted to consult some ancestral spirit or have a god mantle them via mask or animal skull for so-called sacred blood rituals and haruspicy. They could even use your ears like people do with conch shells and hope for a message they believed to be the divine word but was really subliminal backmasking.

 _Holy hell, what is wrong with me?_

 _Plenty of it._ Sylvanas wasn't sure if that was her or the pragmatism or both talking.

She looked at the warrior again. What was her name? Sonya? Yes, Sonya. Sonya of the Dreadlands, who worshiped some god named Bul-Kathos. From what little of the matches Sylvanas had seen during her stint on the run and in prison, the woman was fast on her feet, knew how to yell and make the enemy piss themselves, and jumped so high that when she landed the earth would splinter and trap the unlucky son of a bitch to a painful death. Outside of the League, she wandered, for what Sylvanas didn't know or care, but when she came back she was usually found to be instructing soldiers—the minions—and challenging them to spars to test their progress. Their banners flowed freely today, in the face of the wind, marking the clearing below in a rainbow brightening on one end and darkening at the other, offset by logos and sponsorship titles in contrasting colors that made them pop out for the eye to be drawn to. Training posts, straw dummies, and bull's-eye targets littered the field in compartmentalized segments, where archers, wizards, and technicians fine-tuned their spells and machinery.

Even from up here, she could hear Sonya: "You there! You must put more force into your swing; you are barely denting it. Distribute your weight between your shoulders and your feet, so that you may be able to catch yourself when you fall. Roll with it and get back up." Then: "You are too wide open, pup! Keep your arms close to you, or you will leave room for a blade to pierce through." She continued walking, making corrections and shouting instructions.

 _She'd make a perfect candidate, wouldn't she?_ said the voice. _It would be beat having Nathanos and those no-name browbeats running around with their heads cut off getting our forces in top shape._

 _Yes. Yes it would. But the Board will be sure to notice._

 _Since when did you start caring about the Board?_

 _I don't._

 _Then why won't you do it?_

 _I'm smart, not stupid. You're supposed to give me suggestions that are neither right nor wrong unless I act upon them. You're nothing more than a disembodied fragment of my state of being that wants to rebel against governmental control and societal conformity to the point where I'll dive headlong into extremism and be labeled a domestic terrorist, not only for all the troubles I have and will cause for the Nexus but for simply for reminding the populace that common sense is still alive. I can't just go up to this Hero and try to abduct her in broad daylight. If she can't skewer me with her swords or kick my gut out of my backside, she will crush my head between those thighs and pop it like a grape. I don't know about you, but I happen to enjoy having my head on my shoulders—figuratively and literally._

 _So you won't even try? You're not even going to bother?_

 _You're losing your sense of self, dear. I should like to bring a transitioned person back to Azeroth and…study them. In an ideal world, I could take someone random Joe Schmoe off the street, contain the transition's more negative symptoms, and apply it to the Forsaken. It won't solve the reproduction and body degradation problems, but at least they would be immortal. They would be strong._

 _And if you couldn't get Sonya over?_

"Then I'd find another Hero to cross over with," Sylvanas said aloud, and was glad she wasn't wired (she had managed to convince those dumbass Knights she would comply with the Board, even though, to her unfortunate dismay, she needed to to survive, and that was partly the truth). The ankle bracelet, made from nanorite and powered by aether, the essence of reality, was more than enough.

 _Like what?_ the pragmatic voice said, exasperated. _That girl, Li Li? That murloc?_

Sylvanas tapped her chin. _I guess it'd be more humane if I took the murloc. No one likes them._

 _What does it matter? You can't guarantee you'd be able to cross back after all those experiments. Just imagine being stuck with a transitioned person and you couldn't return to the Nexus! Imagine being stuck with Jaina. Or Arthas. Someone! Anyone!_

Sylvanas mulled it over. If her bodily functions still worked, she would gag. Arthas…in Undercity? It didn't matter which version of him it was; he would either destroy the Forsaken and raise them again under his thrall or she would have him crucified on the spot. Jaina? Who would want to put up with that nerd? Pandas were a joke and, sadly, could stomach fel-laced brew. Would they even reanimate? Who cared? People would say the same thing if she kidnapped a murloc and…well, what use would Murky be? She would only release him into the wild. It most certainly wouldn't be done out of kindness or any high, moral ground, that was for sure.

 _Would you rather have Nova instead?_

Sylvanas paused. That girl was heavily transitioned, wasn't she? Flip-flopping between being helpful, reserved, and flirtatious and whacky, childish, innocent, and stupendously airheaded. She was supposed to be an assassin, wasn't she? Cold, calculating, loyal to anyone who put the paycheck in her bank account. If Sylvanas had bothered to read the Board's records more thoroughly beforehand, she would have easily dismissed Nova as another dumb, mewling sheep eking out an existence as a single-minded lapdog in this ridiculous, incompetent world. But she didn't, wanting to pull a Descartes and vanish from the Nexus ( _And you are such a dumbass for thinking IT WOULD WORK_ ), and she had hit the road shortly after.

There was something _off_ about that girl, something that nobody else didn't bother to notice or tried to help and couldn't offer much other than worried conversations in hushed tones and sympathetic gazes. Even Kerrigan seemed troubled, for she said that even the heavily transitioned didn't experience mood swings and personalities as quickly—and smoothly—as Nova did. So what was it?

Sylvanas froze.

Oh.

 _Oh._ So that was why...but it was just a passing thought. She didn't have any proof that Nova had been—

 _Would you rather have Nova instead?_ the voice asked again, but it wasn't resigned this time. She was impatient, but she was also…curious.

 _No,_ Sylvanas said. _No, I'd rather not have her._ She would rather Nova _have_ her instead, because the Nexus was full of morons that even if the Board knew, they, in their infinite wisdom, just didn't care. There were countless transitioned; what was one more? Even better: she was a heavily transitioned Hero, and, if they wanted to (and they probably did), they could promote her and her like for increased profits. The only unanswered question was what Nova saw in _her_.

 _Idiots...Those stupid, greedy, arrogant, capitalist sons of bitches—_

The pragmatic voice hummed knowingly. _I thought you said you didn't care?_

Sylvanas grit her teeth and loosened the hands she had made into fists. _No. No, I don't. I don't care about a lot of things. You're a part of me, you should know this. Everyone and everything here is for my convenience at their expense._

 _Is it really? Can you really call that 'convenience'? How would you even know that's what you want and not the transition?_

There was that, too. Would she be able to tell the difference between what she wanted based on her decisions and not this…virus? Mass mind control? Divine punishment? Enlightenment? The general state of all things since time immemorial that had become the Way of the Nexus?

 _What do you think?_

Sylvanas contemplated. Then, after a long silence: "I don't think. I _know_ I am me; and if the transition should influence me in any way…well, the intensity varies from person to person. I will simply make do with it, just as I am making do with undeath. Both curses, but weapons to be mastered…and balanced. That's all."

The voice scoffed. _Well, it's as good of an answer as I can get. But what will you do with Nova? You can't always leave her unattended. Even the most affected transitioned have some bursts of clarity now and then._

Thinking of all the chaos that was sure to come by being around Nova—anyone, really—made her grimace. "No…I certainly can't. But…someone needs to watch over her, even if she is an annoying little ball of energy. Killing her multiple times isn't going to cure her, but at least, for what respite it gives, it'll shut her up and put her in her place. I am an older sister, after all. If no one wants to do it, then I will. It'll be nothing new."

In her mind's eyes, she could hear herself tut-tut and see herself cross her arms and shake her head. It sounded more smug and condescending than reasonable. _You are too kind._

"I don't do kindness," Sylvanas growled. "This is merely a convenient partnership. No more, no less."

She saw herself shrug. _If that's what you want to call it._

"That's exactly what it is," she grumbled, and buried her chin between her knees to brood some more.


	42. Chapter 42

**Title:** The Cold, Hard Truth (Hallow's Eve 2017 Edition)  
 **Summary:** "Sylvanas tells it like it is."  
 **Notes1:** So I said I'd be working on that Dragon Age oneshot, but then SkullyPirate brought up the idea of doing a Hallow's End chapter in a PM and that's how this got started rolling. I had considered doing it prior to the PM, and even though I'm kind of ambivalent on this year's Halloween costumes, you can consider this chapter my thoughts laced with Sylvanas's in regards to them (read: it's mostly Sylvanas' because, well, it's Sylvanas, and I happen to be more blunt than brutal where it concerns voiced opinions). This would've been out earlier this past week, but I had a nine-day stint at work to do (to compensate for a couple employees going on vacation) and surprisingly I did not drop dead by the end of it. Fear not, my readers: I still live.  
 **Notes2:** Also, someone else asked if I would write a chapter based (bleh) Dreadlord Jaina: This isn't it, but yes, I do intend to write one that chronologically debuts her; it's in the prompt dump doc. I hate most memes with an undying passion (which is ironic, considering I wrote _Have You Heard the Word?_ around the time Family Guy made "The Bird is the Word" very popular), but the ones I do like are made fun of in return. I mean, her design is great, but the way it came about just sours me. It didn't really help that I cracked open my copy of World of Warcraft: Chronicles Volume 2" one day, looked at the index, and blanched upon seeing Jaina's name under the dreadlord entry. Personally, for me, I could see myself cracking down on redundant memes...which, in turn, would create more memes just to set me off. It is a never-ending cycle of refuse, reuse, and recycle.  
 **Notes3:** I think the last time I dabbled in metaphysics and quantum mechanics in at least ten years, but I was always partial to the many-worlds theory and found it easier to get into than most religions (not that I am discrediting them, but it is merely a preference of mine). As Chromie and Sylvanas say, it's better not to dwell too hard on the implications unless you want tie your brain in a knot :P  
 **Notes4:** I closed the poll last Saturday during the busy work week, and...yeah, speaking of week, "The Worst Week" won out by one vote above the "Sylvanas and the gang turn into kids and try to change back while messing with gender politics in a parody of the 1968 Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer TV special" and "the Tropico version of Sylvanas and the gang trying to run an island in Mistharbor in an attempt at benevolent dictatorship that Sylvanas _somehow_ inherits" prompts. "The Worst Week" initially started out as an idea for a drabble in which the Novas in the Ghost Protocol escape and run rampant in King's Crest while they latch onto Sylvanas as a sort of mass harem; and Sylvanas would try to bring them back to the Board before the Nexus gets overrun by, well, a ton of Nova clones. Of course, it would be comedic in nature. Now I'm pretty sure it's going to end up bittersweet by the end, since now the plan has changed to having the Novas gain sentience and not want to fight, and Li-Ming finally coming to terms with her feelings and the revelation there are other girls interested in Sylvanas and that all her vain attempts at trying to push everyone out of the not-harem so she could have her to herself (although it's not much of a secret, since Artanis and the girls are openly aware and the rest of the public are just waiting for shit to implode) were all for naught. I both point to and blame the lyrics in Mariya Takeuchi's "Plastic Love" and a growing itch to get back into writing yuri (HOLY SHIT I'M THROWING MY GAUNTLET DOWN) for being inspirations. No idea when I'll start that one, but when it does go up expect infrequent updates; work and money take precedence.  
 **Notes5:** Also, can I just say Chromie was a blast to write? She's like that one friend who's always being a smartass to you but means very well. We could all use a friend that is tricky and is nearly at godlike status. And goddamn, this chapter had a helluva lot more innuendos and references than I thought. The latter I can understand because it's intentional (and the fourth wall comment at the end is more or less for you, flowslikepixelz!), but the former just kind of strong-armed its way into the narrative and, well, it's there. Poor Sylvanas lol, imagine if Chromie decided to become part of the not-harem.

* * *

"…oh, and while we're on the topic, I just want to say: those costumes _suck_. I know the Nexus is perpetually strapped where finances are concerned, but these look worse than low budget B-rated movies. Like, if I wanted to rob a bank, I'd at least put more effort into not standing out so much."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Gazlowe asked, bewildered. The robot attached to the back of his chair swiveled as he turned to look at her, head cocked quizzically.

"Yes, that's what I want to talk about. You should care about what I have to say, not the houseborn. When I say something sucks, _it sucks_." Sylvanas took a card from her hand and put it in the discard pile. "Your turn."

"What's wrong with our costumes?" Gazlowe drew a card from the deck placed at the middle of the table.

"There's no soul in them!"

"You're one to talk," said Countess Sarah von Kerrigan with a contemptuous snort. She tapped black lacquered nails against the surface, and she plucked a card from her hand to add to the pile.

"I look more undead than you ever will a vampire, Bride of Frankenstein. Even Nova's got you beat, and she throws a damn bed sheet over her when she goes trick or treating. That's heart right there, even if it is…endearingly whimsical."

"That's because she's your girlfriend," Cho said matter-of-factly, although with the pumpkin on his head the words sounded as though they were coming from a deep cavern.

Sylvanas sneered. "She is _not_."

Gall tossed his head back, guffawing. "She totally is! Got 'er wrapped right 'round, baby, right 'round, right 'round like a record player—"

"Chromie, turn up the stereo."

"T-T-TURN UP FOR WHAT!" Chromie exclaimed, and with wild gesticulations from her wrist magically increased the volume on the system. The subwoofers juked and jived and rattled on the counter by the wet bar, drowning out Gall's atrociously off-tune singing. Oh well, at least his face was covered; it made Sylvanas's night slightly better—"Ah~ that brings me back. Or maybe it brings us forward. Why golly gee, Sylvanas, there are some timelines right now where you haven't gotten around to destroying the stables yet—"

"And you're going to keep that shit _back where it belongs_ if you know what's good for you," Sylvanas snarled, and picked a card from the deck. "Now, as I was saying—"

"I think the most important thing is what that lunatic sees in you," said Doctor Wolf.

"And everyone wants to know what the hell you're doing away from Runeterra, Dr. Mundo. I see you managed to keep a brain and stuff it in that empty head of yours where it can grow unimpeded."

"I'm nothing like him!" Doctor Wolf banged his fists on the table.

"Dude, come on, just play the game already," said Gazlowe. "That's a universe beyond us, and that pot ain't getting' any bigger!"

"TURN UP FOR—"

"Chromie, I'm going to turn that jaw up and make you look out the back of your head with my fist if you so much as finish that sentence," Sylvanas hissed.

The gnome put her arms down; there would be no setting the roof on fire tonight. "Oh, live a little! I know it wasn't your fault." Chromie pressed her hands together, like some Hindi terracotta statue showing her namaste. "Maybe."

"I bet it was her fault!"

"Just make your turn, Doc," V said, sigh full of worldly weary. "I got myself a good hand here." Sylvanas harrumphed and tapped the cards against her chin. Doctor Wolf chuffed, removed a card, took another.

Countess Sarah von Kerrigan arched a brow. "So you dragged us all the way out here to one ass end of Echo Town to another to tell us you detest the Hallow's End costumes?"

"And thrice more I will say it: Yes, they suck. There's no soul to them. There's no…creativity at all."

"This skull face mask isn't really a mask. It's actually my face pulled from another tangent," said Chromie.

"And I can scarce believe there are dragons that would want to dress up like gnomes," said Sylvanas. "Much less gnomes that buy cheap material from discount stores."

"The simpler the better, I always say!"

"Brightwing finally grew hair after so long!" said the fey dragon, swooping in from the overhead ceiling lamp. "My braids are so soft and silky…and full…like intestines…." She clutched a blonde strand between her paws, put it to her cheek, and stroked it with all the love a psychopath could afford.

"You nicked a hair growth potion from Li-Ming's alchemical set when she was out strutting around like a peacock in the market the other day. The hat you took off some shmuck's duck statue on their front lawn."

"I'm prettier~"

"Hey! What about me?" Gazlowe asked.

Sylvanas gave him a sidelong glance. "What about you?"

"What's wrong with mine?"

"That's how you always look. I'm surprised it took you that long to even get a paper bag. A shame it's on the wrong face."

"Hey! At the right angle and the right amount of lighting, I can scare people! Besides, it's a recyclable paper bag that's good for the environment and the monies, heeheeheehee!" The robot clacked its pincers together in a display of greed.

"I, too, would be proud to wear a paper bag with a skull spray-painted on it if I wasn't picked often in bush leagues."

"Hey! The Gaz-Lord gets his time to shine, too, ya know! You just can't recognize the potential! I am a mean, lean, green, fighting machine!"

"You mean the machine does the fighting for you. You just have a brain that misplaces that goblin ingenuity all over the place. No wonder you have automatons working for you now; you can just replace them."

"Organics, too!"

"See, the difference between bio-organisms and technos is that you can program technos to put up with your insanity. Organics—meaning you, me, and Duprey—can only handle so much before they revolt or walk away."

"And if the techno somehow gains sentience?"

"Then it's free to choose to leave as well." Sylvanas picked a card from the dwindling and looked at her hand. Almost there….

"And what about us, huh?" Cho demanded. "You think we look stupid?"

"Yeah, you gotta problem, girlie?" said Gall.

"Yes, I do. Those are real pumpkins."

"So?"

"They're going to rot in a few days."

"But these are our pumpkins!" said Cho. "We've been growing them all year!"

"If you really wanted to keep them from stagnating, you should've injected them with nanorite. Hell, even bottled aether if you can buy it off someone or at the auction houses. That way they can maintain their luster even with all the wear and tear they'll experience."

Somehow the lights they had rigged in their pumpkins dimmed in a display of dawning realization. "Oh crap, why didn't we think of that?" Sylvanas heard Cho mumble, and he turned his head to look at Gall.

Gall looked back. "I know! We have two heads. We're smarter than everyone! How is that possible?"

"Having two heads introduces the possibility of being more stupid as much as having them making you smarter. You can be the sum of the whole or one of two parts. That's your call."

"Since when did you take up theoretical physics and metaphysical theology?" Cho sneered. He showed his hand to Gall, who peered at it from the hole carved into his own pumpkin. The ogre nodded agreeably.

"Anything is possible in the multiverse, so much as one particular is bound to the laws of limitation. That, and I've had my fair share of venturing into aether storms on more than one occasion."

"Banshee Queen is very brave! You go in with no split ends, you come back out with afro!" said Brightwing, and she lighted on the dome-shaped shade of the overhead light. Her weight made it wobble, causing her shadow to recline against the wall around them as some dragon-shaped giant.

"Anyway," Sylvanas continued, "since we're deviating from the topic, my point stands. You don't look the part like Sailor V and Dr. Mundo do."

"For the last time, my name is DOCTOR WOLF!" He banged his fists again, and this time the pot of gold, gems, and shards rattled in their sterling steel confine.

"We only look the part because we are the part," said the vampire slayer, whose gaze was flitting between her set and the Heroes seated around her. "It's in the job description."

"So I guess that means you played close to the vest when you betrayed me and hightailed it out of Raven Court?" asked Sarah von Kerrigan, glaring over the top of her cards.

V chuckled, dark and low. Her fangs caught the light of the lamp like twin, glacial peaks. "'S nothing personal, my lady. I just decided being a wanderer passing through was a more befitting occupation."

"In a tide of blood and bodies, I'll say! I still can't wrap my head around the idea that we're continuing this war in the middle of nowhere, playing _poker_ of all things."

"Better me than Vampire Hunter Valla, don't you agree? I'll wager you wouldn't get a word in if she were here."

Sarah von Kerrigan harrumphed and folded the cards down on the table, spreading them apart with the sweep of her hand. Five cards—three black and two red—stared up at them, Nexian runic numbers at the corners save for one: the letter J, and the mirthful, laughing jester smack in the center. A straight flush. "Can you say the same?" she asked, red eyes glowing dangerously.

V cracked a grin and slammed her set down: three sixes, two kings—one calm man, dark and determined, his head bequeathed in silver crown; another, full of light and madness, with a broken scale in one hand and power, a globe of light, in the other. "I have a nice boat and you don't."

The Countess bared her teeth. "Dammit! I bet your girl had something to do with it!" She pointed an accusatory finger at Sylvanas.

Now V grimaced, and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "She's not my girl," she said, trying to sound tough.

Sylvanas blinked, unimpressed. "I haven't even considered using mind control at all today."

"I can see it in your eyes! That shine that says you're in it all or nothing!"

The Banshee Queen sighed. It was almost like talking to a child. "You truly are blind as a bat. If I had bothered to use it, the thought wouldn't have entered your mind until much later. What you see in my eyes is the reflection of the light."

" _Bull. Shit!_ "

"Believe what you want. I don't care. But I didn't put Valeera up to it."

"I've told you this before, Sylvanas, I don't know who this Valeera chick is," said V.

"That's your name."

"No, it's not. It's, uh, left blank like that so my name be anything you want it to be."

Sylvanas snorted. "Right. Show me your sets or draw. We're wasting time."

"Why don't you draw, if you're so adamant?" asked Doctor Wolf.

She shrugged. "Okay," and she placed the cards on the table. An ace, a king, a queen, a jack, and a ten, all in varying degrees of lunacy and deepening red. A royal flush. "Aces high, bitches."

Doctor Wolf choked. "What the hell—?!"

"My money!" Gazlowe cried as he put down his cards. "My beautiful money!"

Chromie took one look at the set. Then she tossed her back and laughed. "Girl! You got lucky! BAM!" She all but threw her set down: three sixes, two red and one black, and two kings, light and dark. "My house is always full, but you're welcome to pop over whenever you like. I have tea biscuits." She winked at Sylvanas, but you could barely tell she winked at all with how much the skull mask covered her face.

Sylvanas balked, taken aback. "Did you just come on to…? No. No, of course not. No way." Chromie laughed harder, clutching her stomach.

Cho slammed his set down. "Darkness damn you!" "You were holding out, weren't you?" asked Gall.

"Maybe. Hey, Mundo, show me your hand," said Sylvanas. Doctor Wolf gave her the finger. "That's great. Now show me the other nine."

Doctor Wolf grumbled and swore under his breath, lips twisting and curling over pink gums and sharp, white fangs that were longer than normal. He fiddled with his cards, bent the paper and played around with them, all while keeping his eyes on them and not at the table staring expectantly at him (except for Gazlowe, who still covered his face, as did the machine, a lot of good that did). Finally, resigned with defeat, he groaned and slapped them down, softly and one by one.

Everyone studied them—even Brightwing, who had her head craned all the way over the lamp so that she looked upon them upside-down.

"Huh," said Sarah von Kerrigan. "Three of a kind."

V clucked her tongue, nodded matter-of-factly. "Not bad," was all she said. "Not good, but…not bad."

"It's okay," said Sylvanas, shrugging.

"Could be better," said Chromie, "but hey! 'S not like we're playing seriously."

"It sucks," said Cho, simple as that.

"It's awful!" said Gall.

"Brightwing can't tell, but if cards are bad, then they are very bad!" said the fey dragon, giggling.

Doctor Wolf whimpered and slumped forward until he almost lay on top of the table, grabbing at his hair and knocking his goggles askew. "It's not fair. It's just not fair." He sighed. "I need a drink."

"BOOM BAM!" cried Chromie, and with a clap of her hands and a snap of her fingers magically mixed a red, red cocktail from the wet bar. She snapped again, and the drink teleported in front of him. "On your left, good sir! Watch you don't knock it over. I call this concoction the One-Two Punch, strong enough to wipe the next three nights away from your memory!"

"Good," said Doctor Wolf, and he sat up languidly to fetch the drink and quaff it down—all in one go. Twin roses bloomed instantly on his cheeks. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, he tipped back in his chair, and crashed to the floor, cold.

Sylvanas blinked passively at him, then shrugged. "Right, you do that. Now that I've said my piece and then some, I'm going to take this pot and deposit it at the bank." She reached over and took the pot in both hands.

"MRRGRRLGRLRL!" A creature burst into the open, scattering gold coins across the table. It had the body of a murloc—fins, four-fingered hands, and soft scales that would not harden for years to come—but its head...it blinked a large, Cyclopean eyeball at everyone. The flower petals surrounding it flapped with each horrific blink.

Sylvanas scowled. "The hell are you doing in there? Get out! This is mine, I won it!"

"Grgrgrlgrl!" The eyeball glared, put his webbed hands on the rim of the pot, and, unsuccessfully, tried to yank it back toward him.

"Then play the game next time instead of falling asleep at random! You might get somewhere in your life!" Sylvanas pulled the pot to her, and the force of it almost bowled Murky out of it ass over kettle.

"Mrgrl mrgl grlgrlgrl!"

"Your costume? Well, it's better than what Team Fortress here is showing me! Although I can't say how you managed to get that thing magically enchanted; you don't even have the right number of fingers and vocal patterns to articulate an enchantment!" Murky shook a fist at her, the eyelid wrinkly halfway down in an angry _v_. "You don't have the mental aptitude for it! All you're focused on is fish and vengeance for a race that can't stop procreating that won't stop charging headlong into death!" Murky spat, the petals flaring like the hackles on the back of a cat's neck. "Then do something about it! And not with my gold!" She tugged it again, hard, so that Murky spilled across the table and rolled onto the floor. Everyone's heads turned to watch him go until he came to a stop somewhere in the dark of the room with a resounding clash of porcelain and cutlery.

Sarah von Kerrigan shook her head. "Can't believe you're arguing with a murloc. That's a new low, Windrunner."

"He gets the same treatment as everyone else. I don't care who you are and what you do for a living. I don't discriminate."

V smiled lazily. "That's a very bold proclamation. It's blunt, but very…forthcoming. I like it."

Cho'Gall erupted in 'oooohs', 'aaaaahs', and whistles. "Look at you, ladykiller," Cho cackled, "shacking the fleshlings to your wrist without so much as a chain and key in hand!" "You know what to do with those, don't you?" asked Gall, and guffawed to the point the light in his jack o' lantern flickered on and off.

"I have a few ideas!" said Chromie.

"Don't encourage them!" said Sylvanas, appalled.

"We're just friends," said V, waving a hand in the air to emphasize her point. "Everyone is. E-Even Nova!"

"Because wherever Sylvanas treads, default or variant, white lilies will bloom; and all the maidens fair and wondered, scarred and full of aching yearning, from the twelve corners of the Anchors, will follow~ watered, sated, blooming~" Chromie bowed as much as the space between herself and the table would allow, arms sweeping up and down grandly.

"I know where your gravitational range is going to go when I fling this can at you," Sylvanas threatened, and raised her can of conjured seltzer water to throw. Chromie raised her shoulders in a challenging, casual shrug and stayed that way even as the object came hurtling toward her. Brightwing giggled and with a lurch swooped down, catching the can just as it was about to score a hit on the gnome's masked face. She fluttered back up into the dark onto another lamp, turning it over in her paws. Sylvanas scowled murderously.

"So that's why you left my court," Sarah von Kerrigan said to V, deadpanned but with absolute certainty. "I should've known."

The hunter blushed. "I told you, we're just—!"

"Every tsundere says that," said Chromie kindly. "Of course, with Sylvanas, everyone is welcome! You'll never have to wait in line! Except for Li-Ming. Girl's all by herself, thinking she has first dibs, but she'll come to. Sooner, later—who knows? 'S all up to her."

"Yes, well, no one can decide that for her but her," said Sylvanas, and though her tone was terse the way she expressed them was gentle, and Sarah von Kerrigan arched her brows at this display. "Now, I really should get going. Night's not getting any younger." She grabbed the pot of gold—

And a black shape—tall, long, and muscular, dropped down in front of her, wings unfurling. Her blue, tattooed face stuck an equally blue tongue at her. "BLEH!" cried the dreadlord, and grinned. Gazlowe, so lost in his misery, jumped up, screaming shrilly. Brightwing did, too, and glided out of the building through the skylight, can between her paws. Cho'Gall started, causing Gall to form a ball of shadowflame in his hand.

The one-eyed ogre groaned. "DON'T. DO THAT! By Darkness, I think I almost had a heart attack!" He snuffed the flame out.

"We share the same heart, moron!" said Cho.

"If we have one heart, why do we have two stomachs?"

"Oh, not this again!" Cho ran a hand down his face.

Sylvanas blinked at her. "Oh. Great. It's you. The memelord. I totally forgot you were here."

Jaina cleared her throat. "Hm, yes, sorry. Verbal tic from my younger years. Did I scare you?"

"Yes. This is my frightened face." It was very, very blank. "Is that all you wanted to do?"

"That, and I wanted to remind you, yet again, that so long as the fans continue to spread the good word, I will continue to exist." Jaina poked her tongue out and lathered her lips from one end to the other. Her eyes glittered with dangerous mirth. "It does my blackened heart good to know Jennifer still flies into an autistic rage whenever she sees my name on the internet forums and wiki pages." She sighed. "Ah, but to my misfortune, it seems to have dulled since I made my wondrous entrance into the Nexus. That is fine by me; her grumbling and pouting will suffice."

"The default Jaina may be a naïve Poindexter, but even I know she's not stupid enough to go charging into the fray with a piddly staff. Not my fault everyone else there didn't notice and died spectacularly. And I don't know who this Jennifer girl is, but leave me out of it. I've no interest in her, but I'd like to think she'd be just as, what's the word, deserving of a break from you after being constantly intruded upon from out of the blue."

"My mere presence has done more than enough to prove her wrong, and I will do my part to continue reveling in her ire. Creation doesn't care for opinion; only matter!"

"Unless it's pandering."

"Oh, indeed! That's why stories based off other worlds with teenage Japanese protagonists, monster girls, and harems filled with stock characters and archetypes are all the rage! All the material, all the illustrations, all the lovely wives and husbands that are born from the imagination is simply fuel for promotion and ad revenue! Speaking with your wallet, and your memes," Jaina chuckled, "is what makes the creative world turn."

Sylvanas gave a small, knowing nod. "So that's why industries are banking on nostalgia and shitting themselves years later on when their projects are finished and released. They're scraping the bottom of the barrel. One of these days there's going to be nothing left to scrape, and it'll all be because they can't stop applying a coat of narrow-minded politics, diversity, and 'empowerment' for the masses to mindlessly devour. Keep that in mind, memelord…and for Darkness' sake, let go of the pot!" Sylvanas gave a harsh, warning tug.

"BLEH!" Jaina exclaimed. "I mean—Ahem. Oh, poo! You always have to be such a hard-ass. Very well; keep your paltry winnings."

"There's three thousand gold in here. Is hanging upside-down making you high?"

"Where I stand, I stand high above everyone. Upside-down, right-side-up, sideways, diagonal…anywhere I please! Go on, take it. I will simply…mmm, join the next game."

"And what, exactly, are you going to do with gold?" asked V.

Jaina shrugged. "I'm a dreadlord. I play the stock markets, the auction houses, Underdark fencers, online e-commerce, loot box management and microtransaction gouging…I do 'em all! If I can garner the luck of love from shitposters and fans alike, I can pull the luck of the draw and manipulate my way to victory."

"I'd love ya if you were a goblin, lady," said Gazlowe, full of sincerity, "but there ain't no way I'm macking on that."

"That didn't answer her question," said Sarah von Kerrigan.

"The gold? Hell if I know. I'll figure something out. Send me an invite, Sylvanas dear, when you're ready for another match. Toodles! BLEH!" She swung upward into a crunch from where she hung on the unseen rafter, and there came a chittering and squeaking, loud and high pitched. A cloud of bats, gnats, and carrion swarmflies emerged into the light and soared across the room, toward the open skylight and out into the darkening twilight.

Everyone had watched the dreadlord go; even Cho'Gall stopped their quiet argument, blinking.

"What was _that_ all about?" asked Gazlowe.

"You, my friends, have just experienced having the fourth wall broken," said Chromie, taking a sip from her martini.

"Fourth wall? But I feel real!" He poked and prodded his skin. "I know I'm real! I shaved my stubble today and nicked myself in a dozen different places!"

"So that's why your face looks like it got clawed by a cat," V mused.

"HEY!" Cho'Gall roared laughter.

"I wouldn't think so much on the implications lest you lose your grip on sanity," Sylvanas told Gazlowe. "That's the joy and bane of delving into metaphysics. Nothing is true, yet everything is permitted. Or perhaps everything is true and permitted. I don't really care for semantics."

"I'm an engineer, baby, not a doctor! I lose myself in what I'm good at!"

"And let it stay that way. Most people aren't meant for this knowledge, especially when they shouldn't," Sylvanas leveled a stern glare at Chromie.

She smiled cheekily. "Honey, it's my job. Until the appointed day comes when I do lose my ability to gaze into the timestreams, I'm stuck with it. Easy come, easy go. No harm done."

"Still, one thing bothers me," said Sarah von Kerrigan, propping her elbows up so she could lay her chin on steepled hands. "Who's this Jennifer character? A baseborn? A houseborn?"

"Would be nice to know if she's a houseborn," said Cho. "The irony of those blowhards not getting their way would be _delectable_." "Indeed, indeed!" Gall agreed. "They need to suffer more for their arrogance!"

"She sounds like a normal person," said V, "but whether she's baseborn or not, even I can't say. I'd have to meet her first."

"Well she sounds like a person that doesn't exactly have patrician taste in good design!" said Gazlowe, and nodded smartly over his folded arms.

"Gazlowe, you like any woman that has a rockin' hot body because you can't seem to get on the good graces of goblin women that play the political game _and_ can still afford to keep their money."

"Not our problem you never pay your 'bills' to your 'benefactors' on time," said Sylvanas, clenching her fingers in air quotes.

"And yet the Gazlowe Auto Repair and Bod Shop is still in business! With replaceable, recyclable, programmable employees!"

"Until you fall behind on payments again and the place gets totaled. The next time that happens, Genji, Probius and I will _not_ be there to watch your back." Sylvanas removed a Hammer-Space tube from her rune bag, popped the switch, and discombobulated the pot of gold inside it. Ah, finally. "As for this Jennifer girl: who cares? It's not like she's anyone significant." But she disliked the dreadlord, and anyone who disliked pretentious, asshole versions of Jaina were a plus in her book.

"She is and she isn't," said Chromie with the air of mystery. "Default and variant, an echo across space and time with little to no ramifications and so much more. Just as we all are. A Power among Powers among Powers among Powers—"

"That's great, Hawking."

"Just tellin' it like it is. But you're right; we shouldn't think on these things too hard. Where would be the fun in that? Anyway, who wants another round?" Chromie snapped her fingers, and the empty glasses and cans levitated in the air. She indulged them with a mischievous smirk.

Gall raised his hand. "Ooh, ooh! I do! I do!"

"I need one for the road, count me in," said Cho, sighing tiredly.

"Screw it, I just want to forget. Lay it all on me, baby!" Gazlowe cried.

"Anything that tastes like blood is a steal," said V.

"Just like your heart," said Sarah von Kerrigan, and gestured for Chromie to continue.

"I'm going to the bank. I want to see Mundo out of here when I get back." Sylvanas grumbled, and pushed her seat out of the way to get up.


	43. Chapter 43

**Title:** Fun for Everyone (Hallow's End 2017 Edition)  
 **Description:** "Sylvanas has some surprises for her, er, friends. It spirals out of control from there."  
 **Notes1** : Ye gods, this wasn't supposed to be this long. It was supposed to be short - short enough to be out by Halloween. How did I manage to blow it up to 6k, WTF.  
 **Notes2:** But hey, on a lighter note, you get to see Kate Dennings, aka Roller Derby!Nova, whom I had forgotten existed until just recently. The same goes to Widowmaker!Nova, but it's not too hard to keep track of when the prompt dump doc is over 118 prompts (and counting, as of Alexstrasza and Hanzo coming out).  
 **Notes3:** There's more than just subtext going on here. Like, pretty much direct confirmation is at work. So much so that I alluded on my Twitter that some readers will be over the moon about it. I think that's the most blatantly yuri I've been since my Nanoha fanfics (what few PWPs I have don't count), and not only was that a while back (because I pretty much fell out of it long after Force got "cancelled" and Vivid was still being serialized well before Vivid Strike was made), I'm notoriously fickle about ships and pairings in general. IMO, some ships are more likely to happen than others (from a canonical point of view), but in the hands of people anything can happen within the realm of possibility (which may or may not be influenced by preference, but that doesn't matter if you enjoy crack/rare pairs).  
 **Notes4:** Whereas Chromie is that one smartass friend who knows she's just as absurd as everyone else is and revels in it, Li Li is that one friend who dabbles in smartassery now and then but tries not to get too involved in the stupid situations they find themselves. However, it doesn't matter how transitioned you are: life in the Nexus _will_ find a way to drag you into them.  
 **Notes5:** Somehow the Greater Dog didn't end up in this chapter like I intended to, but maybe that's for the best given the, uh, circumstances that happen in this chapter. Mimic wood _is_ rare, you know.  
 **Notes6:** To end it off: Someone asked what the difference is between the terms "houseborn" and "baseborn", so I'll copypaste the answers here:

 _"Houseborn" and "baseborn", like "default sector", is another term I use in my offline, original writings. For this story, I use "houseborn" to indicate the Houses that run the Board; there are lesser, noble families underneath this particular chain, but those same people are signified with the term "noblesse" so as to distinguish them from the houseborn. However, even though the Houses have full run of the Board, you'll see important people of lesser rank like Executive Charleston (mentioned in Chapter 41 but appears in How Does That Even Work?) take part in making decisions where it concerns the Nexus Hero League and how feuds, brawls, seasonal events, etc._

 _"Baseborn", on the other hand, is more or less a term for people that aren't noblesse or houseborn. They're just your average citizen trying to make ends meet, regardless of economic status. On the other hand, this is also used in a more pejorative context by the houseborn and noblesse that could not care less about those people because they're rich and those peons down there in the hills and stone houses are not, i.e. "we have money, we make the rules and enforce them, Powers be damned it's not like they do anything, anyway". This is mostly in regards to King's Crest politics, though, so it'd be interesting for both I and the reader to take a look at how Luxoria and Mistharbor operate. The same goes to Jeetilopolis, but it's a massive city (and not a realm, but it could be classified as a city-state) and it's the HotS equivalent of Grand Theft Auto; it's already described as a suburban gangland that's more technologically advanced than, say, King's Crest, that somehow, just like it, blows up on itself and still manages to stay in "civilized", operating order._

* * *

"So what's this surprise you wanted to show us?" Nova asked Sylvanas. She pulled the thick sweater jacket tighter to ward off the chill of the late afternoon air.

"This another one of your harebrained schemes to express your love by killing us unexpectedly?" Kate Dennings interjected, and Sylvanas had half a mind to strangle her while she was blowing that goddamn bubblegum in mid-pop. "'Cause it sure sounds like one o' your confessions."

"I don't do confessions!" she refuted heatedly, and that one time Auriel decided it would be a good idea to drape Al'maiesh over her shoulders—in front of the default Nova, in a field full of white lilies and pink roses, no doubt—to clear her mind didn't count. It never happened. _Never._ Li-Ming seemed to agree, in her own angry, wordless way. If she looked out of the corner of her eye, she could even see the wizard nodding quite vigorously.

"Sylvanas, when you say you don't do things you actually end up doing them," said Li Li. "That's just how it goes."

"The transition makes me do it!"

Li Li barked laughter, turned around and walked backwards. She shrugged. "'Kay. If that's how you want to put it…."

" _Li Li._ "

"Hey, I'm just saying!"

"There's the stables," said Li-Ming, and she indicated the building's looming presence with a nod of her head. "Is it new mounts?" Her cheeks reddened. "Sylvanas, you didn't need to do that. The Board does that every month. They have the gold."

"So do I," said Sylvanas.

"It's a wonder we even have gold to begin with," said Kate. "All those bigwigs in their high, marble chairs and their longhorses keep embezzling it to fuel their luxury palaces, private assembly lines, and diamond-encrusted pool ponies."

"I always wanted one of those," said Nova.

"What, a pool pony?" Kate snorted softly. "Why would you want that when you could have your own teleportation network that's free of charge and bypasses checkpoint security protocol?"

"Now those are unsubstantiated rumors!" said Li Li.

Kate narrowed an eye at her. "Li Li…no one can be that hopeful. Especially you. Come on, kid, I know you're smarter than that. Not even you can swallow the lies and keep 'em down for long."

She grimaced. "W-Well…it is kind of hard, trying to tell the truth from the, er, alternative facts."

"And that's why you always double-check your sources. That's why tabloid mags and conspiracy theories are still running the gamut…thirty-thousand years later."

"Okay. Fair enough. But how do you know for sure the houseborn and noblesse have diamond-encrusted pool ponies, huh? Last I checked, diamonds sink when put in water."

Kate balked, as though she had been cornered. "D-Do they?"

"They could have used nanorite," said Nova.

"Or bottled aether," said Li-Ming.

"I know that! B-But! Maybe, er," she paused, stretching the word out with a twirl of her hand. "Maybe it's a special kind of diamond! Y'know, the kind that's unbreakable, unsinkable, eternal!"

"That's what they said about the Titanic," the Banshee Queen grumbled.

"Maybe it's a diamond that can only be found in the Nexus, Sylvanas! Maybe it's a diamond MADE OF AETHER! Have you ever thought about that? GODS,Sylvanas! Why do you have to be such a Debbie Downer?!" She clicked her tongue and that blasted bubblegum between her teeth. Sylvanas could almost hear the valley girl rear her ugly head (with the fake, synthetic hair extensions and breath smelling like pumpkin spice) in those words.

"Why do you have to be such an annoying cunt sometimes? Gods!" Sylvanas said under her breath, low enough so no one could hear her, and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Why can't she be more like you?_ she asked Nova, and the thought made the Ghost chuckle.

"She's got a point there," said Li Li. "There might be a diamond out there—"

"THANK YOU!" Kate blared.

"—but if there's such a thing, I wouldn't know where to begin to find it."

"The Underdark!" cried Nova, as if she had just come upon a most fascinating discovery; but Nova always did that.

"Why go to an illegal market when you can just make a diamond?" said Li-Ming. "All you need are gold, the reagents, the machinery, and the equations down to the exact number and decimal."

"HA! Good luck filling that bank account and keeping it that way. You're gonna need it," said Kate. "Oh, and there's no point in making counterfeit gold; the men in black will have their lapdogs sniff 'em out and throw you in the Depths for it."

"Oh, please. We've been sent to local county jails for worse than counterfeit."

"Yeah, like that time you and the Greater Dog had that beam spam contest and blew up most of King's Crest," said Li Li. "Only the super serious criminals get to go to the Depths."

"Yes," Sylvanas drawled, sardonically. "Nothing beats money-guzzling hedonists and power-hungry wizards going Super Saiyan on a dog in armor like having a sentient, warmongering axe from some forgotten age locked up in chains."

"You keep bringing that up," said Kate. "You gotta tell us about that one of these days."

"Knowing Sylvanas, something set her off and she got arrested for it," said Li Li.

"Pretty much," Sylvanas confirmed, without shame, and left it at that.

Li-Ming nodded. "Oh, of course. A day where Sylvanas doesn't cause some sort of ruckus, no matter how big or small, isn't a day worth living at all."

Li Li whistled, sounding more like imitating a Hail Mary than a wolf whistle. "Dayum, girl! Listen to you!"

Her face burned red. "Sh-Shut up! It was just a comment!"

"Girl, did you hear yourself? 'A day where Sylvanas doesn't cause some sort of ruckus—'"

"I said, shut up!"

"—no matter HOW BIG or SMALL, isn't a day worth living at all'!"

"You read too much into things!"

"Can't help it when they're that blatant!"

"UGH! LI LI!"

"Oh, I remember that story!" Nova piped in. "Ataraxas, wasn't it? Isn't it still locked up there?"

Sylvanas made a face and shrugged. "Hell if I know."

"Well I hope that axe thinks long and hard about what it was going to do! Hey, you remember that day we woke up in that chicken coup in the back of the Home'ard Road Bar and Grill? I knew you were a game changer the moment you socked Falstad, pilfered his wallet, and took the reins over Swiftwing. I'm still surprised you even made it that far before the whole shebang showed up!"

"I'd do it again if I could."

"And I'd bet you'd get farther yet! Because you're Sylvanas!"

"Damn right I am." At least her name wasn't Erza Scarlet.

"What's this about a chicken coop?" asked Li-Ming, suddenly losing interest in putting Li Li in a headlock.

Kate grinned wickedly and waggled her eyebrows. "Nova got to triple tap Sylvanas."

Li-Ming froze, so suddenly she looked ready to hit the ground. "WH-WH-WH-WHAT?!"

"I was there. I heard it was very messy. Full of feathers and chickens and eggs—"

"You liar! You weren't there!" Nova cried, and jostled Kate. "I didn't have my rifle on me, either!"

"OH. MY GOD," said Li Li, and covered her blushing face with both hands. She doubled over, shaking with silent laughter. Or tears, Sylvanas didn't know nor care. Kate threw her head, braying like a donkey in heat.

The Banshee Queen groaned quietly, running her own hands down her face and (reminding herself as she did so) taking great care not to pull the skin and leave furrows on her cheeks. "What did I do in life to deserve this?" She looked up and felt a surge of relief wash over her. "Hey, numbskulls, we're here. Pay attention."

"Oh? Already?" Nova asked, letting go of Kate's outrageously long twintail. "Talk about fast."

"You got us mounts, didn't you?" Li-Ming asked. "You did."

"Just wait," said Sylvanas.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear what you did to do this," Li Li said, grinning, and dashed to catch up.

"Did you bring the chickens?" Kate asked through half-baked, mischievous guffaws, and stepped out of the way of Li-Ming's flailing, grasping lunge. Grass kicked up where the wizard tripped over her feet.

Sylvanas ignored them and walked toward the opened barn doors, where a few of the on-site doctors, vet technicians, and stablehands were tending to the beasts. "Knock knock, peanut brigade's here," she called, and clapped her hands—hard—right next to a man's ears as she passed by. He jumped, screaming, and spilled the bucket of water he was holding all over his coveralls and the stable door. The pinto pony in front of him neighed and tossed its head in exasperation, turning dark eyes on its purpling, swearing handler.

"Lady Sylvanas! You shouldn't do that!" said Franklin Beaumont, squeezing past a pair of conversing lab coats upon seeing her. In his hands was a data pad. "You'll upset the animals."

"Oh. Alright," she said, and clapped her hands just shy of striking his face. Beaumont gasped, backpedaled, and fumbled with the clipboard. "How's that?" The technician responded with a frustrated scowl.

"Lay off, Sylvanas," admonished Li Li. "Don't give the guy a heart attack."

"He just said we'll upset the animals. Where I come from, my people see them as such. I thought I'd help him see his point," the Banshee Queen said, drolly.

"They're vets, not surgeons. We're twenty minutes from the nearest citizen hospital."

"And he'll just pop right back, as fine and dandy as you can say please. Anyway, where's Jamieson?" she asked Beaumont.

The man gripped the clipboard around white knuckles, looking as if he wanted to smack her with it. He didn't, and with a huge sigh the tension eased from his shoulders and he settled back on his heels. "He's over there—"

"Here I am!" said Jamieson Pierce, and all but glomped on the older man's shoulders from behind. He grinned at the way his weight nearly brought Franklin down and the bird-like squawk tearing out of his throat like static feedback on a stereo. "Miz Sylvanas, how're you doin' today?"

"As fine as I can be in paradise. You bounced back quickly after the fishnet incident."

"Honey, I always do! That's how the Pierce men roll!"

"GET. OFF," Beaumont grunted. He straightened up and, just as Jamieson mentioned, rolled the kid off his back; or maybe it was Jamieson being nice and pretending it was Beaumont who had all the strength to hoist him off.

Jamieson dusted off his coat. "You here for the mounts, right?"

Li-Ming snapped her fingers. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"What did I get?" asked Kate.

"Who cares about that? I want to know how she got them," said Li Li.

Nova gasped. "You finally got a longhorse?"

Sylvanas mimicked blowing a streamer of air from her lips. "I told you to keep it quiet, man."

Jamieson shrugged. "Kind of obvious, don'tcha think? And it's not like they know what they're getting."

"Yet."

"Of course. But yeah, you lovely ladies got yourselves some extra special mounts for this year's Hallow's End. Sylvanas went out of her way to smug—oof, I mean! _get in touch_ with some fine folk at the Nightshade Guild at Jeetilopolis, and they were nice enough to _give_ us these fine creatures. Well, half of them, I should say. We debugged a few kinks and ran several antivirus scans before we started on the preliminary runs. As for the others, we put them through the hoops and kept 'em nice and warm as they can be!" He gave the girls a winning, toothy smile, even as Beaumont glared and looked to dig his elbow into his ribs again.

"You totally smuggled them, didn't you?" Li Li asked Sylvanas, head tilted up at her.

She frowned. "Now I didn't say that—"

Li Li put her arms akimbo and tut-tutted. "Sylvanas Anne Windrunner! You never learn, do you?"

Her frown deepened. "Listen, we went over this. I don't have a middle name—"

The girl sighed. "Well, I hope what you got was worth the trouble."

"Oh, I think you'll like what I procured. Jamieson, Beaumont, bring 'em out."

Now Beaumont turned his glare on her. "You're not the boss of me—"

"I'm a Queen and you're a hippie. Just do it."

"What do you have against hippies?" he grumbled under his breath, but he heaved a defeated sigh and went with Jamieson toward the back of the barn. After a few minutes, Jamieson came back, sidling past busy technicians and roaming androids, twisting around to make sure Beaumont was following. "Now this one's for Miz Nova here. The Nightshade Guild heard Winter Crest had some problems with feral undead horses for a while an' were tasked to domesticate 'em. His name's Dolemite. He's one of the first to be successfully trained." He waved Franklin through.

Everyone had gotten a good look at Nova's face: it was neutral, but alight with the cool embers of curiosity and anticipation. Now it erupted to a sheer radiance…and a loudness punctuated by the high, girlish squeal of joy that had them flinching back. "OH MY GOD! YES!" She squealed again and dashed up to the sheet-covered pony. "THIS IS MY SPIRIT ANIMAL! AHHHHH!" Dolemite neighed, and didn't mind when Nova threw her arms around his thick neck. "He's perfect! We match now! Thank you, Sylvanas!"

"Eh," was all the Banshee Queen said. He might be successful, but he still needs to get used to people and the lay of the land. Figured you'd be the best person to help him adjust until the Guild and Winter Crest decide what to do with the domesticated equines."

"He's even got a _cute widdle candy bucket for a necklace_! Ahhhh!" Nova screeched, and dissolved into a mess of feminine giggling. She pressed her forehead against Dolemite's nose. "I don't think I could have loved you any more than I do now."

Sylvanas grunted but didn't look away, shifting from one foot to the other. Li Li made a dramatic show of wiping the back of one paw across her forehead. "Whew!"

Kate smirked and poked Li-Ming in the side with her own elbow. "Triple tap~" she said in a sing-song lilt.

Fury curdled the wizard's features like milk. "Where's my mount?" she grounded at Jamieson.

He chuckled, holding up his hands in placating defense. "We're getting 'em. Just wanna get the animals out first while we boot the systems."

"Systems, you say? What kind?" Li-Ming snagged him the lapels of his coat. "Is it motion sensored? Infrared? Speak, man!"

"This one's yours, Li Li," Franklin said. "Her name's Mahti. Took us all over Luxoria just to get her to come with us. Lots of poachers down there, can you believe that? But she's okay now; her home will be here until the Guild clears out the deltas and she can go back in peace." He looked over his shoulder and tugged lightly on the leash. "C'mon, girl. There you go."

Li Li peered around Sylvanas. Her breath hitched. "Oh, wow! A Piresian sunhawk!" She approached the bird tentatively, awe laced with a sliver of trepidation. The bird was massive, three times Beaumont's stick-thin girth with large red wings, tinged a dark violet and midnight blue at the tips. Her plumage was crimson, bright upon its head (contrast with a soft robin's egg blue at the base of its high, sweeping sunflower yellow crown) and dark at the bottom by the talons. Her chest was thick and the color of lavender, the feathers upon its breast flecked with green, yellow, and pink spots. Her beak and brows were pure, snow white, her eyes like two, burgundy marbles. She cocked her head at the girl's approach and ruffled her wings, startling her, but Mahti settled back on her talons. "She's aether-touched…these guys are, like, really rare! How'd you convince her you weren't poachers?"

"Low sodium, gluten free saltine crackers. The sunhawks love that kind of stuff!" said Jamieson, who managed to gently pry Li-Ming's death grip loose. "Got a box of 'em around here if you want to feed her before you take her out."

"Can I? Cool!" Li Li withdrew her hand from Mahti's curious, pecking beak so as not to surprise her and went to the back of the barn, toward the feeding stations. She came back with a green box, opened it up, and held forth a piece of cracker in the cusp of her paw up to Mahti. The sunhawk leaned her corded neck forward, opened her beak, and snatched the bit like a pair of tongs dealing with hot food on a griddle. "Neato! Thanks, Sylvanas!"

"WHERE'S MY MOUNT," said Li-Ming.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to second that," said Kate. "What do we get outta this? You implied we got constructs."

"That's right!" said Jamieson. "Give me a moment and grab some of the fellows to help me take 'em out. They're pretty heavy. Come on, Frank!" He snatched the man by the arm and pulled him along.

"That's Mister Beaumont to you, you sly fox!" But Beaumont allowed himself to be dragged along, if only to be of assistance, and together they disappeared into the back, past the stations where the offices resided.

When they were gone (and Nova had yanked the bed sheet from a tube of Hammer-Space over her), Sylvanas regarded Kate and Li-Ming. "You are getting constructs…but these are…let's call them prototypes. The Gearfax family was producing them around this time a little over a year ago to compete with the machines the Cogsmere cosca was churning out. The only reason you see them here and not in the back of some random vault gathering dust is because the Gearfax considered these products failures for not putting out enough power…and I'm sure you're both well aware how much Jeetilopolis loves their power, regardless of context."

"What could they have possibly discontinued production on that wasn't worth the investment?" Li-Ming asked. "I thought everything mattered whether or not they didn't meet up to standards?"

"The lesser goblin families that have the 'gonna-be' attitude throw everything they can make and plagiarize under the sun across every market they can make a profit in do that. Cosche like the Gearfax and the Cogsmere gnomes? Those are big boy leagues right there. They have territories to hold, resources to claim and fight over, trades to ply and businesses to keep afloat. They'll buy low and rig the selling price to as high as they can go without the authorities catching a whiff of what's going on. They'll remind you to pay your dues as soon as humanly possible, and that's when you keep telling them that you will, you will get around to paying them, you just need a little more time to clear the crap off your table or out of you drawers and send the envelope through the designated drop box, over the phone with the cordless in one hand and your debit or credit card in the other, or transfer the money over via some unknown bank account on the deep web; and when enough time passes and you still haven't given them money, they'll be nice enough to send not just one person but the whole cavalry, like it's one big parade full of mecha and exosuits and motorbikes decked with miniguns instead of circus animals."

"That was that one car chase you and Gazlowe lead them on back in the summer, right?" said Li-Ming. "That was all over the news."

"Gazlowe had it coming," said Sylvanas, unrepentant.

"And all it took to take the goons down was a freeloader, a cyborg ninja, a floating toaster from space, and an undead elf who got the idea of wielding a pair of black and gold swords from _Fate Stay/Night_ ," Kate cackled. "You're such a weeb!"

"I did not get the idea from a TV show! Or alternate reality! Whatever!"

"You're not the Banshee Queen anymore. Now you're the Weeb Queen! Hail the Weeb Queen!"

"Maybe I wanted to make black and gold swords! A leader should always have more than one weapon at their disposal for the sake of convenience, not out of a sense of being the flashiest!"

"Why make weapons when you can have magic?" said Li-Ming. "In that regard, I outshine you all."

Kate clapped her hands together. "Ooh, a challenger! Talk about a match made in heaven, Weeb Queen!"

Sylvanas glowered. "You believe what you want to believe. And for the last time, I am not—!"

"Here they are!" cried Jamieson Pierce, and the girls turned as one to look. His arrival punctuated the quiet, insectile hum of nanorite engines on low power, revealed to be a flat, hovering platform when he and Beaumont came into view.

On it were two steel jetpacks painted silver on black. The three, interlinked sawtooth gears that was the crest of the Gearfax cosca were absent, as though they had never been stenciled in on the assembly lines.

"And these, my friends, are yours!" cried Jamieson, whipping his arms out to showcase them. "The Icarus-type Apex Predator! Discontinued one week after preliminary test runs failed to produce the minimum explosive energy output renown throughout the eight city-states of Jeetilopolis!"

"You mean it wasn't explosive enough to cause chaos and bedlam," said Sylvanas.

"BINGO! You are correct!"

"What's the highest they can go before they start stuttering?" asked Li-Ming.

"Four hundred feet at best. As far as I know, the Exetar Cartel they have under contract managed to secure some mimicwood and aether from the Shadesborough, which is one of the Shadowskirts and as far west you can go in Outer Jeetilopolis before you're considered away from civilization and into the wilderness. I guess they didn't procure enough of the stuff or stabilize the input/output connection to the engines properly because these didn't get off the ground high enough or, if they malfunctioned, didn't explode with enough force to, uh, inflict the necessary quota on casualties and property damage. For those reasons, the Apex Predator was most likely written off as a failed experiment that would have had them lose more rather than make money. But knowing you girls," Jamieson added, grinning mischievously, "I'm sure you can prove those suckers wrong and show 'em a little TLC can get 'em even higher off the ground!"

"Please. No. Don't give them ideas," Sylvanas said. Uselessly, one might say, not bothering with applying a coat of desperation to her words that most people—lesser people—would apply.

She saw the glint in their eyes as Li-Ming and Kate approached the jetpacks and eased them off the platform into their waiting hands. Whatever material the Exetar Cartel molded the mimic wood into, it must have been something extremely rare and valuable, for the Apex Predators were very light and did not immediately cause them to collapse under the weight of them.

The girls exchanged: Kate, challenging; Li-Ming, proud and tempted. "I can think of a few ways to make use of these," said the former.

"Oh?" said the latter.

"Oh, indeed. Hey, Pierce! You have weapons, too, right?"

He blinked. "W-Weapons? Uh." He scratched his cheeks. "I think there are some in the stalls out back. Depending on what you get, you'll have to put some fresh cells in before you use them."

"This is going to cost us, isn't it?" Beaumont asked, dryly. "What are you up to." This was not a question.

Kate leaned in. "First one to hit the most houses gets a date with Sylvanas," she whispered conspiratorially. "Loser gets saddled with the repair bills and the Ranger-General variant."

"Girl, they are all fine. Winner gets a date with all the Sylvanases," said Li-Ming, just as quietly. "Loser goes into debt."

"Ooh, kinky! Didn't take you to be so repressed!"

"You in it or not, Dennings?"

Kate gave her a most evil, shit-eating grin. "By the end of the night, I'm gonna make you dance on mailboxes for money."

"Bring it, _bitch_ ," Li-Ming growled, and then as one they tore out of the stables, wrestling the jetpacks on.

Beaumont watched them go. When they were gone, he glared at Sylvanas. "This is on you, you know."

She shrugged. "You've been in the Nexus how long? It's Hallow's End. Maybe if they get lucky, they'll hit the houseborn."

"I don't care about that! What bothers me is the fact that, no matter what you do, big or small, regardless of whether or not you did anything at all, you're responsible! You're called the Troublemaker for good reason, and if anyone had a lick of sense buried somewhere in them they'd steer well away from you!"

"And not the ones causing actual problems on the home front? Your priorities are so off the mark it could miss an ocean. It's a wonder King's Crest didn't go the way of the dodo a long time ago. But, yeah, sure, call me what you want. I don't care. Most titles mean nothing to me."

"Come on, Sylvanas!" said Li Li, and her and Beaumont moved aside to allow the girl to walk by them. She was already seated on Mahti's saddle, reins held in a loose grip. "We gotta get out there and make some mad candy before rush hour! I want that free turkey from the contest! Get on a mount and let's go!" With a gentle squeeze of her heels, she goaded Mahti into a trot out the barn. With a beat of her wings and a triumphant squawk, the sunhawk bounced off her talons and took to the skies.

"Contest?" Beaumont asked.

"There's a contest going on at the rec center some of the Heroes go to in Dragon Shire. Whoever has the most candy by the end of the time trick-or-treating ends gets a free turkey for Pilgrim's Bounty as part of some 'ultimate turkey dinner' dinner meal made by the local delis in the county."

"So you went out of your way to contact the Nightshade Guild and smuggle random animals and discontinued vehicles across the realms…for a trick or treat contest? That's…surprisingly kind of you."

"I blew up another highway on the way here a couple days back when the Exetar Cartel found out their warehouse was broken into. It was kind of me to put those lazy, third-rate bastards back to work on something more worthwhile."

"Wait, that was you?!"

"No, it was I! NO-BODY! And her faithful steed, THE GREAT DOLEMITE!" Nova barged in between, roughly and with no fanfare, with the bed sheet covering her completely. Blue eyes peered from the holes. "Under cover of night and shrouded in moonlight, the elusive No-Body comes forth to fetch sugar-coated cancer and incite accidental magic parlor tricks in a bid of conquest, and they shall be punctuated in beer, explosions, body counts, and everyone's favorite chemical: TRYPTOPHAN!" Dolemite the undead horse rose on his hind legs and kicked at the air with a proud whinny. "Take my hand, Sylvanas, and ride! RIDE WITH ME AND AND TAKE WHAT'S OURS!" Dolemite whinnied again, the jack o' lantern rattling against his neck.

"I don't really want to—"

"UTTER NONSENSE! YOU DESERVE TO HAVE SOME FUN!" Nova reached down, grabbed Sylvanas by the arm, and tugged. "Remember the fan incident?"

Something in her forehead twitched. "No, I don't," she rumbled, but Sylvanas allowed herself to be hoisted up onto Dolemite and put her hands on Nova's hips. "I guess I'm doing trick or treating then," she told Beaumont, as though she was commenting on the weather. "See ya 'round, space nerd."

Franklin took that moment to close his gaping mouth. "How did she…? But she's so…Who are you calling 'space nerd'?! And what's the fan incident?"

"You are not worthy of that knowledge," Sylvanas said, low and imperious.

"HI HO, SILVAAAAAH! GEE-YAP!" Nova pressed against Dolemite's flanks. He neighed, reared once more, and galloped out the doors.

* * *

"You did it, Sylvanas," said Li Li, a few hours later. They were standing underneath a streetlamp in a pool of sodium-vapor light, necks craned back toward the sky. Mahti was perched on a slanted wooden rooftop across the street from them, ruffling her wings and pecking at a bag of grain she had received from a farmer who, from how Li Li described it earlier, looked ready to soil himself…but it was not toward the sunhawk.

"Come again?" Sylvanas asked, feigning ignorance. An explosion went off nearby, and, if they listened closely, they could hear the screams of terrified noblemen and women.

"You're an absolute madwoman. You've got a competitive roller blader and a rebellious wizard fighting for your, uh, affection on jetpacks."

"Okay."

"With miniguns and rocket launchers."

"Okay."

"Don't you think that's pretty crazy?" Another, louder explosion, and the sound of raining wood and shattering glass.

"I've been asking myself that since the day I learned I had accumulated fan clubs across the realms, expecting my arrival since the Hero League was revived and revealed to the public." She turned to Li Li. "Look at me. I'm a dark, brooding antihero. I dress like this because I just don't give a shit. I plunder graveyards and raise the dead so that I may keep the Forsaken numbers at an acceptable level. I use strains of the Plague of Undeath as ballistic missiles that can turn lands into radioactive wasteland for years because more power is better if it's in my hands. I openly resent a hedonistic government infected with insanity that sees no point in changing. I don't know how in the hell any of that makes me relatable let alone even _endearing_ , but somehow, some way, people managed to do just that."

"The most common answer you'll hear the most is that you're pretty freaking hot, undeath be damned."

Sylvanas nodded knowingly. "Yes, there is that."

"The other reason would be is that somewhere in that still, dead heart, there's a little, ooey-gooey center that's soft enough to poke through and spread around before it seeps back inside."

"That's just rot. I had to go to Morales for a medical exam last week. Nasty stuff."

"I did not need to know that," Li Li said, as complacent as can be. "But, anyway, undead or not, morally black or grey, you've got at least three girls, a dozen variants, and about a good portion of the female population in the Nexus falling over themselves vying for your attention. They'd do anything to get you to look at them the way I see Li-Ming look at you when you have your back turned."

"Such as blowing up the Nobles' District with military-grade weapons?"

" _Anything._ " A clap like thunder, and, over the horizon, a pink and orange mushroom cloud bloomed. The ground at their feet shook.

 _"And that's another six houses down for Katherine Dennings! The crowd goes wild!"_ A sound, like a powerful vacuum doing the runs, heightened in volume. Li Li and Sylvanas turned their heads as one to see the variant sailing across the stars, the jetpack's engines radiant orange-yellow comets against the darkness. In her hands was a rocket launcher, and crisscrossed over her chest and waist were bandoliers of Hammer Space capsules. She unlatched one from a belt, jammed it into an unseen slot, and fit the launcher in the position she had against her before. The lights along its barrel lit up, from red to orange to eye-searing green. "What's the matter, slowpoke?" she hollered over her shoulder. "I thought you _loooooooved_ her!"

She ducked instantly as a spray of…gunfire? Magic missiles? Hell if Sylvanas knew, but they flew over Kate's head in an arc that spread across the district in a slow, wide fan. Li Li winced seconds before the sky lit up spectacularly and several columns of smoke gushed into the open like underground geysers hitting the breaking point.

When Kate uncurled herself, it was to see Li-Ming come to a stop a few feet away. She let the clips from both assault rifles tumble away into the dark and reloaded fresh magazines into the chambers. Her hands emitted a soft, wavering magenta glow, and she raised the guns to aim them at Kate's head. "It's nighttime, hon," she said, "and I'm still not dancing. I wonder why. Could it be that it is you who has two left feet?"

Kate Dennings grinned. "Only one way to find out, and you ain't goin' to." Without looking, she suppressed the trigger on the launcher. It spat out a missile that all but dropped like an anvil through the air in a low, bestial roar. Then it picked up momentum, and in a burst of sulfur and cordite soared, shrieking high, mechanical tenor. The street quaked again and the air suddenly grew hot and uncomfortable. Sylvanas heard Li Li go through her bag and snap something—a fan, from the sound of it—open. She held up a hand and shook her head when the girl offered her one. "You been keeping count?"

"Two hundred houses," Li-Ming ticked off. "You?"

"What a coincidence. I'm at two hundred houses, too." Her grin settled into a smirk. "Trick or treatin's almost over. How about a tiebreaker?"

"Shoot."

"First one to reduce House Ultas' estate to rubble wins. What do you say?"

" _Just_ House Ultas?"

With a flick of her tongue across her upper lip, Kate Dennings' grin was all teeth and no mercy, the battle-light blazing her eyes. "You really wanna get on that mailbox, don't you?"

"Keep talking about it and I can guarantee _you'll be the one_ that ends up on it," Li-Ming retorted, and with a blast of magic and a twist of the Predator's joysticks, she darted past Kate in a blur of robes and cylindrical steel, guns locked and loaded.

From this angle, Sylvanas and Li Li could see rather than hear the mad laughter almost overwhelming the variant; and then she, too, was gone, launcher primed and jetpack thrusters engaged. On the roof, Mahti raised her head to chirrup indignation at the noise before lowering her beak back to the grain.

Li Li snapped her fingers and made a gun-shaped gesture with her paw. "Like I said: absolute madwoman. You don't even have to do anything. You can just give 'em the patented Sylvanas Windrunner look and they'll do it for you."

"If only the rest of the world were that simple," Sylvanas said, with a sigh of longing.

"Sylvanas! Li Li! Lookit what I got!" Nova galloped around the corner and eased Dolemite to a stop beside them. She raised her arms, bedecked in plastic buckets overflowing with candies of all shapes and flavors. "I hit the jackpot!"

"Holy guacamole! That's a lot!" Li Li said, and went to take the buckets and place them on the ground. Upon rising from the last one, she froze and peered into Dolemite's necklace. "Hey, wait a sec. What's all this?" She reached into one jack o' lantern and turned her paws over. "Jewelry? Nova, I thought you said you weren't going far."

"What, and miss out on the free cash? No one has to know it's from the noblesse. We can just say we found it, um, lying around!"

"Yeah, that _they_ ," Li Li jabbed a finger at the sky, "blew up!"

"No one ever said the treat in trick or treating had to be just candy."

Li Li started. "W-Well! That's true, but—"

"The houseborn are gonna be runnin' around for the next few days searching for us, anyway. We may as well pawn these off and break bank so we can cover the expenses." Nova lifted a handful of thin, gold chains, precious gems, and what looked like a fancy compact mirror slipping halfway from her grasp and hit the pavement with a glassy clink. "How's that sound?"

"That is the smartest thing I've heard you say all day," Sylvanas said. Nova beamed, but the Banshee Queen cut any chance of running her mouth off short. "Li Li, do you want a lot of money?"

"Is this a trick question?"

"Just answer me. Do you like money?"

"Well, yeah."

"Do you want that free turkey?"

"Yeah, but why do I need money for a free tur—"

"Do you want stuffing? Cranberry sauce? Pumpkin pie? Hush puppies?" Sylvanas leaned in closer. " _Chocolate. Truffle. Mousse?_ "

Li Li smacked her lips. "Well, when you put it that way—"

"Do you?" She leaned in more, until she was just about doubled over.

The girl didn't think twice. "Hell yeah!"

"Then take these, shut up, and be a good girl." Sylvanas snagged a handful of jewelry from Dolemite's necklace, stuffed them into Li Li's paw, and closed her fingers over them. "Go on, get on Mahti. We're going to Jeetilopolis and become kings."

"Until the money runs out."

"Hush your mouth."


End file.
